


Huntresses of Light

by Chris Ganale (ChrisGanale)



Series: The RWBY/XIV Chronicles [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV, RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Video Game World, Characters Playing Video Games, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Play-by-play (sort of), Roleplaying Character, hold onto your butts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2018-11-21 19:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 102,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisGanale/pseuds/Chris%20Ganale
Summary: 1575, Seventh Astral Era.The clouds of war gather on the horizon for Eorzea. Lured under a false flag by the Griffin, the Eorzean Alliance unwittingly has pledged itself to the liberation of Ala Mhigo from the iron-clad clutches of the Garlean Empire. From the great parapets of Baelsar's Wall, the Warriors of Light steel themselves for the bloodshed to come.---June, 2017.The release of the newest expansion of Final Fantasy XIV, Stormblood, is only hours away. Sisters Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long, and their significant others Weiss Schnee and Blake Belladonna, ready themselves for the new content to come alongside their other friends. For the members of the Free Company Beacon Academy, it's going to be an interesting few months.





	1. Prologue - Griffin, Griffin, On the Wall

The wind whipped over the highest parapet of the Garlean outpost known as Baelsar’s Wall, carrying with it the scent of smoke and blood. Four figures stood at the edge of the parapet, staring down the hooded figure at the center of the soon-to-be showdown arena. All around them, the faint sounds of war drifted up from below, underwritten by the omnipresent crackle of the burning outpost.

The petite, white-haired elezen stared unerringly at their adversary. “And so here we find ourselves,” she said in a slightly-shrill voice, a closed tome held in her right hand, fingers tight around its spine. “Not a moon after putting to rest a thousand-year animosity, one of our own ghosts returns to haunt us.”

“Then we must needs ensure that he is laid quite permanently to rest,” remarked the dark-haired miqo’te, her tone even through her voice like silk. She had a blade sheathed at either hip, standing in a remarkably-calm pose despite not only being deep into enemy territory, but having a deep and personal loathing for this individual. “He’ll not escape us this time.”

“We’ve waited too damn long for this, ladies.” The tallest of the four, a towering roegadyn woman with long, flowing blonde hair, dragged her axe up from where it had been resting with its head to the ground, the scrape of metal lost to the clamor of war below. Heaving the giant weapon up and letting it rest on her shoulder, she turned her lilac gaze back to her companions. “I know that we wanted this to end as peacefully as possible, but...uh... No. I’m taking his head back on a pike.” She turned her head to the right, but unwilling to take her eyes off the man before them. “So, any sign of Thancred and the others?”

The very smallest of the group, a lalafell that barely came up to the roegadyn’s knee, gave a troubled nod. “One of the remote sensors I left on the way up spotted them coming up the battlements. We’ve got about five minutes before they get here.” Then, the troubles disappearing into a broad grin, the lalafell lass withdrew a firearm that would have looked well-fitted to the roegadyn’s hands. “It’s a race to the finish!”

Chuckling, the warrior took a step forward and focused her attention on the white-haired man. “Well, let’s not waste any time then. Weiss?”

The elezen was already casting. The melodic chimes of gathering aether erupted into a crescendo, the warm cascade of protective aether shields enveloping the group in addition to the invisible shields of a _Protect_ spell that they’d been swathed in the entire time. With a whoop that fell somewhere in the spectrum between joy and rage, the heavily-armored blonde charged forward, rearing back and sending her gigantic axe flipping end-over-end toward the man. Just as she released her weapon, another set of aetheric shielding from the scholar enveloped her, followed almost immediately by yet another spell that she knew would backlash upon enemy contact and decrease her foe’s strength.

With his own sword drawn, Ilberd Feare met her charge, shouting above the noise, “I’ll give you all a glorious end, Warriors of Light! Come! See what awaits you at the far edge of fate!”

The blonde ducked under the traitor’s initial swing and slid past him, coming up with axe in hand and hammering him in the side, cementing his attention on her and turning him away from her compatriots. His blade snuck in through her axe and would have dealt a strong hit, were it not for the double-layered shielding that readily absorbed the blow.

“Come on, coward!” she sneered at him, more venom in her voice than usually present when she taunted her foes. “My grandma hits harder, and she’s dead!”

By then, the rest of her comrades had joined in the attack. An explosion of water from just behind him shrouded the next attack of the miqo’te ninja, a harsh stabbing sound echoing out as she drove her blades into the weakpoints of his armor, momentarily leaving him more vulnerable. The tiny machinist was only too happy to take advantage, her gun and accompanying turret belching fire into his undefended backside. A sphere of dark magic burst into life underneath them, the elezen’s targeted _Shadow Flare_ sapping the life away from Ilberd while leaving her comrades unaffected.

Axe and sword clashed and danced past one another, biting into their respective foes. The advantage, however, laid with the roegadyn woman, given she had the support of a healer. Despite this, Ilberd did not seem disheartened by the four-on-one odds he faced. He reached into a pouch on his armor, removing a stoppered flask of the type used by alchemists to hold throwing potions or alchemical explosives. The warrior could see the silvery grains of flash powder within it as he lifted it over his head and taunted, “How do ye like _this_?”

“Eyes!” she shouted in warning to her fellows, turning her head away just in time as he hurled the flask to the ground. A blinding flash filled the air, but she was not affected, and by the sounds of it, the others had averted their eyes just in time as well.

She turned back in time to see that Ilberd had coated his sword in pure, glowing orange aether and was in mid-leap as he readied an attack against her. “Oh, sh--”

The first blow knocked her axe out of line, leaving her vulnerable to the following two blistering strikes against her center of mass. Almost before her mind could register the damage done to her, the soothing sensation of Weiss’ healing magic—like a cooling breath of spearmint—washed over her, negating the physical harm of Ilberd’s strike.

That, however, was not the only result of having taken such considerable damage. The warrior let out an echoing, deep scream of rage, her eyes shifting color from a gentle lilac to a furious red. She raised her left hand to the skies, as though beseeching the Twelve for deliverance, but in reality drawing aether unto herself. She lunged at Ilberd, her axe head unleashing a trio of aetheric bursts of energy in the shape of looped, interlocking chain blades, with the expatriate Ala Mhigan trapped at their center.

At nearly the same time, a hypersonic shot of pure aether struck him in the back, along with a bolt of lightning from the blue and a scalding hot blast of magic. Undaunted by the multi-pronged assault against him, Ilberd hoisted his sword aloft and shouted, “For Ala Mhigo!”

Glowing replicas of his sword made of aether rained down from the heavens, beginning with one in the center, with others falling equidistant as they drove themselves into the parapet. Each impact scattered burning aether in every direction, keeping the white-haired elezen on her toes in mitigating the damage to her team. Once the final one had fallen, Ilberd raised his hand into the air, grinning as the aether coalesced into a single point above the center.

“I have you now!”

The condensed aether detonated into a massive blast that blanketed the area. Once the light had faded, the aetheric swords began to burn, and the four ladies knew well what a collection of burning aether entailed. All four of them converged on the burning sword in the middle of the field, their attacks dispersing the gathered aether bit by bit into the air. The warrior kept her focus on Ilberd, planting herself as a wall between him and her comrades.

He already had another vial of flash powder in his hand as he came toward her. A quick glance showed her the others had their back to him as they swiftly dealt with the center-most of the aetheric swords, and she snapped her eyes shut as he threw the vial. The flash was bright enough to see even through her closed eyelids, and she grunted in pain as his sword found its way into an opening on her armor.

“Sloppy...” he taunted as he withdrew his blade. Turning away from the warrior, he wound up and delivered a powerful kick to the lalafell, sending her skidding backwards into the blast radius of several of the swords.

With an inarticulate scream of rage, the blonde struck her axe against Ilberd’s sword, but another assault of the spinning aetheric chain blades was not so easily parried. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her lalafellin companion just make it back to the safety of the cleared space as the glow of the aetheric swords reached their peak. The explosion of the swords filled the night sky with an overwhelming light, but the four were safely out of reach of the blasts.

Under the cover of the light show, Ilberd darted across the parapet, holding his sword aloft and drawing it back over his free hand to infuse aether into it, imparting a bloody red glow to it. The quartet were already scurrying to safety; they knew full well the power of the move he was about to unleash.

They had, after all, witnessed it firsthand over a year ago at the disastrous banquet in Ul’dah.

Just moments after the lalafell reached safety behind the Griffin, Ilberd swung his blade, sending a red wave of hyper-sharp aether sweeping across the parapet in front of him where they had been standing.

The Griffin turned back toward the blonde and raised his blade high as he charged at her, the weapon glowing bright orange. “I’ll tear ya limb from limb!”

She was ready for his devastating attack this time, taking a defensive stance as a green aetheric shield flashed into being around her. The first strike of his ‘claw’ broke the defensive shield, but between it and her attentive parrying, the full assault hurt a hell of a lot less than the initial one had.

As the wash of healing magic cascaded over her once more, she gave Ilberd a crooked grin and her eyes flashed red once more. She unleashed a fusillade of axe blows against him, many that he struggled to defend against. The sharp sound of a blade striking home indicated that the ninja had once more found a gap in the Griffin’s armor, and this was followed almost immediately by the pitch of the machinist’s turret’s shots dropping into a deeper register, signifying that she had supercharged the device. They could all smell the proverbial blood in the water.

Even as the warrior let out another yell that was more gleeful than infuriated, and lifted her axe to deliver yet another felling cleave, Ilberd fished a device out of his armor, spinning and flinging it at the elezen scholar. “Let’s see you squirm out of these!”

The device struck the tome that Weiss instinctively lifted to defend herself, bursting and ensnaring her in dual loops of magitek chains. The machinist and ninja set upon the chains immediately, while the warrior kept the Griffin occupied near the edge of the parapet.

Knowing that the healer was momentarily indisposed—and hopefully taken out of the picture entirely if the other two were too slow—Ilberd leapt up and drove his sword into the steel ground. A concussive blast of aether exploded out from the point of contact to damage all the adventurers opposing him. He then flipped his grip on the hilt of the sword, wasting no time in tearing it out of the ground and up into the warrior.

Ignoring the—so far—negligible damage she had sustained, the blonde roegadyn fell into an almost trance-like pattern of flowing her axe blows into a steady, uninterrupted sequence. She and Ilberd continued to trade strikes, almost turning it into a contest of wills to see who would fall over first.

A wash of cool aether fell over her without warning, rejuvenating her fully; their scholar’s most potent healing spell. “Honestly, _must_ you make me work so hard to keep you alive, you great oaf?” Despite the clearly-notable bite in her voice, long experience gave knowledge that Weiss wasn’t truly irritated with the warrior’s actions.

“Aw, didn’t want ya to get bored, Weiss Cream,” the blonde teased back, grinning infuriatingly.

“And _don’t_ call me that,” Weiss deadpanned almost immediately, off-handedly tossing a blast of scalding aether at Ilberd with a flourish of her pen and a flick of her wrist.

Before they could continue their banter, a great rush of aether filled the air to the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking. It coalesced into a massive blade of glowing orange energy larger than all of them, somehow impossibly held in the ninja’s hands. The miqo’te jumped high into the air, bringing the blade of light crashing down twice onto Ilberd’s head. On the second strike, the gathered energy exploded violently, dealing yet more damage to the Ala Mhigan man.

Ilberd’s sword clattered to the parapet as the man staggered, then fell to his knees. He wasn’t dead, but there was no disputing the point: the battle was over.

\---

Yang Xiao Long leaned back in her computer chair and stretched her arms high above her head, letting out a yawn. On the leftmost of the dual monitors before her, her friends stood around as the victory fanfare echoed through her headphone speakers. Weiss was already moving toward the exit portal.

“ _Yay, got all my light!”_ the exuberant voice of the lalafell’s player sounded as, on her right screen, the Discord icon for ‘Ruby Rose’ illuminated. _“Thanks, guys!”_

“ _You’re welcome, Ruby,”_ Weiss answered immediately, a notable warmth in her voice.

“ _You know we’re up for helping you any time,”_ the miqo’te’s player agreed, as the catgirl on Yang’s screen opened the treasure coffer.

“No problem at all, sis,” Yang added, giving about ten percent of her attention to the loot table to note that the reward was a Heavy Filibuster’s Gambison of Maiming. Clicking the greed button out of habit, she continued, “Better get going to Azys Lla and get that anima upgraded.”

On the screen, Ruby’s lalafell was already out of the instance. _“Yep! Only got an hour or so left before the servers go down and I’ve still got a whole nother step to do.”_

Yang won the greed roll for the loot, calling out in a sing-song, “Vendor traaaaaash~” as she exited the dungeon.

One loading screen later, she was back at the house of their free company in the Lavender Beds. After a quick hug emote at the miqo’te ninja—who had also been dumped outside the front door—she ran off to the right side of the yard, clicked the gear set icon for her blacksmith class, and began navigating her recipe book. The ninja walked over and sat in front of her as she selected adamantite nuggets and hit the button to start her high-quality crafting macro.

“So, Blakey, excited for the party tomorrow?” she asked.

She could almost _hear_ the black-haired woman roll her eyes over the headset. _“I’m on pins and needles in anticipation,”_ came the sarcastic answer.

“Of course you are,” Yang said, playing along and grinning as she watched her character automatically perform the varied crafting actions. “Any of me and Nora’s parties are something you couldn’t bear to be a _part_ from.”

Weiss huffed in annoyance, Ruby hissed as though she was in pain, and Blake immediately snarked back, _“I am literally less intelligent for having heard that.”_

To support her statement, Blake’s character stood up and emoted angrily at Yang. Unfortunately, the female miqo’te angry emote—like most of them—was nothing less than adorable, and Yang only giggled in response.

“You know you love my puns.” She clicked the macro again.

“ _First off,”_ Weiss cut in, _“that wasn’t even a pun.”_

“ _I love_ Nero’s _puns_ ,” Blake added. On cue, her character spawned in a minion doll of a blond man in red armor with a huge magitek hammer. She then proceeded to blow a kiss at it.

“He punned _twice_ way back in two-point-oh!” Yang complained with faux drama. “Never since! Not in the Tower, or with Omega.”

“ _What can I say?”_ The teasing tone positively dripped from Blake’s words. _“I just have a thing for blondes with bad puns.”_

“Aww, love you too, Blakey.”

Ruby made exaggerated gagging sounds as Weiss threatened, _“I will throw_ both _of you in the Pungeon, so help me...”_

Yang clicked her macro once more. “I know _I_ wouldn’t mind a little ‘time out’ with Blake,” she said suggestively, waggling her eyebrows even though she was alone in her room and they weren’t broadcasting over webcam. “How about you, babe?”

“ _I won’t dignify that with a response,”_ Blake answered, even though her tone of voice said something else entirely.

Weiss muttered in German for a few moments before letting out a sigh and then lapsing into silence, probably surfing the web. Ruby was still watching her quest cutscenes, and Blake was almost certainly reading a book at her computer. Yang took the opportunity to turn out another dozen high-quality nuggets.

Several minutes later, Ruby suddenly called out, _“Alright team, who’s up for some primals?”_

Yang exited her crafting window and clicked the hotkey back to her warrior. “Let’s do this.”

“ _We can knock out the old ones ourselves unsynced,”_ Weiss pointed out, _“but we’ll need help for Ravana, Bismarck, and the Warring Triad.”_

“ _I see Nora.....Yatsuhashi...and Sun still on,”_ Blake remarked, clearly browsing their free company listing and her linkshells. _“Neo’s on too, so we can at least scrape together a functional full party for the Heavensward primals.”_

“ _Yeah, but we still have a bit until we get there,”_ Ruby added.

On cue, Yang’s duty finder window chimed.

“ _Look out, Ifrit! Team RWBY’s coming for you!”_


	2. Best Friends Forever

Yang brushed her fingers through the long, messy strands of her blonde hair, ensuring she didn’t have any kinks or tangles. Satisfied that her golden mane was—as usual—flawless, she leaned closer to her mirror and turned her head to one side, then the other in order to check the condition of the little amount of makeup she had applied. Just a little bit of eyeshadow to make her eyes pop; because when one was hot enough to earn the epithet ‘Burning Beauty’, an excess of makeup was not necessary.

Deciding that she had perfected her look, she reached over to the edge of her desk beside her mirror and picked up her cell phone. She turned on its camera function and faced it toward her mirror, giving a wink and a peace sign with her free hand as she snapped the selfie. Giving it the tagline ‘Stormblood pre-launch party~’ she added a plethora of tags before uploading it to all of her social media outlets.

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnng...” Ruby’s voice drawled from outside her room. “Come on, we’re going to be late! We’re _already_ late!”

Chuckling, Yang paused long enough to blow her reflection a kiss before stepping out into the hall of their shared apartment. A few feet away, leaning against the door jamb of her own room, stood a young woman with red-tipped black hair, silver eyes, and a figure that was almost as eye-catching as Yang’s own. The blonde liked to tease that it had taken a long time for the Xiao Long genes to catch up to her sister, but had done so with a vengeance.

Ruby wore a pair of black jeans and a black tee shirt with the image of an elezen male and the text underneath ‘I Miss Haurchefant’. It was nerdy as all hell, but Yang herself was wearing a red college-style shirt that declared her ‘Property of the Immortal Flames’. And they were to be among their nerd friends anyway, so their attire was more than appropriate.

“Chill, Rubes,” the blonde said, ignoring her sister’s pout to pull her into a side hug, ruffling her hair with her metal right hand. “It’s called being fashionably late.”

“ _Coco_ does fashionably late,” Ruby grumped, pushing Yang’s hand away with both of hers, “and Weiss said even _she’s_ already there.”

“Good thing we’re ready to go, then, isn’t it?” Yang asked sassily, pinching Ruby’s cheek.

Stepping away, she started down the hall toward the front door, but paused after a few steps and squinted back at her sister. “Ruby, have you eaten today?”

The younger woman froze as if she were a deer caught in headlights. “Uhhhh-ooooof course I did!” she proclaimed, not-so-subtly transitioning two words into one.

Yang’s squint said more about how much she believed Ruby’s fib than any words could have. She beckoned her sister toward her with her left hand. Hesitantly, as though she feared a round of knuckles to the top of her head, Ruby slinked over to within arm’s reach of the blonde. Rather than inflict any sort of sibling justice, Yang simply wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders, squeezing gently as she started walking them toward the front door.

“Sorry I took so long, Ruby,” she said, her usual vocal bravado gone in favor of a warm, motherly tone. “Didn’t know I was keeping you hungry.” Her tone shifted to normal as she jokingly wagged an index finger in Ruby’s face. “But _you_ need better eating habits. Cookies and sweets snacked on at random and no real meals does not make for a balanced diet, young lady.”

Ruby gave her sister a warm smile, of the sort that the older sibling had repeatedly proclaimed would one day strike her dead with diabetes. “It’s just been a busy couple days, sis,” she replied, her voice overflowing with her love for Yang and appreciation for all she had done for her over the years. “You know I wouldn’t be the star of the track team if I only ate crap all the time.”

Yang barked out a short, hearty laugh. “True that. Come on, Rubes, let’s get out of here and hit up that par-tay!”

\---

There was an informal rule at the JNPR House. As long as someone was awake and at home, the door was open and one just came right on in. Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren were practically family as it were, and they extended that courtesy to their friends as well. On initial thought, their nigh-literal open door policy might have appeared ill-advised, given that it might invite robberies, or even worse, but this was not the case for several reasons. First, their house was located in a good neighborhood with a low crime rate. Second, they weren’t so foolish as to leave their house unlocked when they were out during the day or late into the night once everyone was asleep. Third, Pyrrha and Ren were both champion-level in their martial skills, Pyyrha as a mixed martial artist and Ren as a taekwando trainer, and the House frequently hosted any number of highly-athletic individuals easily capable of contesting an ill-fated robbery. Lastly, it was Texas: the front room alone had four firearms readily accessible in the event of a home invasion.

Yang opened the door and stepped inside, belting out a sing-song, “Hellooooo~”

Immediately beyond the entryway was a living room sporting a couch and two love seats arranged in a U shape facing a large TV, with a coffee table in between. Knick-knacks took up most of the empty wall space, including a row of display cases filled with assorted collectibles and a functional arcade cabinet.

Three people occupied the seating in the living room, and a fourth was coming down the hallway bearing a plate of assorted snacks. From the loveseat against the far wall, a fashionably-dressed woman with dark brown hair that faded to caramel at the tips regarded the incoming sisters, tipping down the designer sunglasses she wore and peering critically over them in a practiced motion.

“And here I was,” she said in a sarcastic drawl, “thinking you’d decided to skip out on your own party.” She glanced across the table to a girl with half of her brown hair dyed pink. “Don’t give me that look, Neo. You’ll get your damn money.”

Yang scoffed at the notion. “And do what, exactly?” she asked, removing her boots and setting them aside in the large pile of footwear just inside the door. “Fourteen’s down for the expansion, I’m caught up on all my other games, no new movies are out, and Blake is _here_.”

Ignoring the verbal sparring between her sister and the other woman, Ruby, already out of her sneakers, draped herself over the back of the couch and inspected the quartet of white cards with assorted phrases that Neo held. “Oooh, Cards Against Eorzea? I’m in, next round! But food first!” She shoved herself off the couch and darted down the hall.

The group in the living room laughed at Ruby’s antics. Coming around the back of the seating area, the long brown-haired woman who had brought the snacks set her bounty on the table, away from the other cards that were in play, then sat down in the loveseat with the fashionista.

“Thanks, Bun,” the woman said as she leaned forward to snatch a few items from the snack pile. In the same action, she smoothly leaned over and planted a kiss on the other woman’s cheek.

The long-haired woman immediately colored bright scarlet, then nudged her partner with her shoulder. “You’re welcome, Coco,” she said, her Australian accent standing her out in the room full of Americans.

From the loveseat directly facing the TV, a black-haired woman with eyes like fire smiled at the couple. “Velvet, you’re adorable,” she said warmly.

Coco performed her ‘glasses-tipped-stare’ action again. “And what about me?”

The other woman regarded her a moment, making a show of thoughtfully tapping her finger against her chin, then teasingly said, “I _suppose_ you’re okay to look at.”

Drawing herself up to her full seated height, Coco leaned forward, resting her elbow on Velvet’s knee, and glared across to the other loveseat. The dark-haired woman tilted her head up and to the right, but met Coco’s glare with one of her own every bit as fierce. After a few moments, however, both women cracked up laughing.

Now with her boots off, Yang leaned onto the back of the couch on her elbows. She leaned obnoxiously over Neo’s shoulder. “How you been, half-pint? Staying out of trouble?”

Rolling her heterochromatic eyes, Neo shoved Yang away from her playfully, then grabbed the wireless keyboard next to her and began typing. On the TV, which was currently little more than a glorified monitor for the computer next to it being used to play assorted music from the five existing soundtrack collections of _Final Fantasy XIV_ , a small word document displayed Neo’s text: “You’re heavy, you ogre.”

Yang put a hand to her chest and gasped in mock offense. “Why, Neo, you _wound_ me.”

Another eye-roll, more typing: “Hand me something sharp and I’ll make it permanent.”

“Ah, you know you love me.” The blonde turned her attention toward the fire-eyed woman. “Didn’t figure you’d be here, Cinder. Don’t you have con stuff this weekend?”

Cinder shook her head, folding her left leg over her right. “No, A Kon was last weekend, nothing really big on my schedule until RTX next month. So, I’ll be around to play an early access period for once.”

“We’re happy to have you here,” Velvet said warmly, to which Cinder smiled back.

“Speaking of friends,” Coco added, “where are your little minions?”

Cinder laughed. “Merc and Em?” She made a dismissive wave of her hand. “Making out in the laundry room, if I know those two.”

“Nah, Ren would throw them out of there,” Yang said. “Too close to his kitchen. Speaking of the kitchen...” She shoved herself up to her feet and waved to the quartet. “Ladies...Neo... catch you around.”

Making her way down the hall, she turned left into the kitchen, where a Chinese-American man with a pink streak through his otherwise-black hair stood tending the stove. To his right, several banquet tables had been set up and filled with an assortment of food themed on culinary recipes from _Final Fantasy XIV_. A few decorations also themed for the game were scattered about the table, mostly consisting of tiny flags that bore the four standards of the Eorzean Alliance, and the tablecloth itself printed with a map of Eorzea.

Yang plucked a pair of meat and vegetable skewers—helpfully identified by a written marquee as meat miqo’bobs—from the table and started munching. Her movements drew the chef’s eye, and she lifted a skewer in acknowledgment to him. “Compliments to the cook,” she said. “Watcha watching there, Ren?”

“Another batch of baked popoto soup,” he answered in his usual calm manner, slowly stirring the pot. “Ruby got the last of the first batch.”

“That little weasel,” Yang grumped, only half-joking. Ren made _really good_ baked potato soup.

“I’ll be sure you get the first bowl,” he promised her, the faintest trace of mirth in his voice.

“’Preciate it,” Yang said with a grin, then stepped out into the den.

A large gaming table took up the back half of the room, surrounded by two couches and a lot of camping chairs. Around this table, a game of Trivial Pursuit seemed to be taking place, modified to use lore from the game. The players of this game were a blond young man, a long red-haired woman, a short red-haired woman, a dark-tanned man with red hair, a blue-haired man with a pair of goggles worn on his head, and her sister Ruby practically sitting in the lap of a white-haired woman with a scar over her left eye. Most importantly, seated on the couch next to her sister was a woman with long, black hair and eyes the color of liquid gold currently sweeping the pages of the _Encyclopedia Eorzea_ in her lap.

Her smile growing wide enough to hurt her cheeks, Yang crossed the room and dropped into the open space next to the bookworm. She leaned deep into the other woman’s personal space, giving her a kiss just below her ear.

The dark-haired beauty let out a low-pitched squeal of happiness at the kiss, a smile curling her lips as she leaned into Yang. “About time you got here,” she said. “I was beginning to think you passed out.”

Holding the food skewers in her left hand, Yang wrapped her right arm around the bookworm. “Do I truly inspire so little faith in you, Blakey?”

“On the contrary, I just know you.” Blake laid a hand over Yang’s, but instead of it being a purely romantic gesture, she used it to pull her girlfriend’s skewers to her and steal a bite from the one Yang started on.

“She’s right, you know,” Ruby commented in between slurps of her soup.

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” the white-haired woman on whom Ruby lounged admonished lightly, her head back against the back of the couch and her eyes closed.

“Rough day, Weiss?”

“ _Ja_ ,” she answered, her accent and native language slipping through in her fatigue. “Three papers are due, underwhelming project partners, and to top it all off, my brother decided to call and once again denounce my ‘dalliances.’”

The other three ladies scowled at her words. “Homophobic prick,” Blake growled, her hand tightening around Yang’s right forearm.

“He’s _so_ not invited to the wedding,” Ruby grumped.

“Weiss, seriously,” Yang said, gesticulating with the skewers in her left hand. “I’ve got some old buddies from SF. I can make a few calls, get a few things together, and _totally_ make this whole problem go away.”

“You understand that he’s basically Lolorito, yes?” Blake asked. To serve her point, the lore book in her lap was turned to the page detailing patch 2.55: the events of the bloody banquet and the betrayal of the Crystal Braves. “He’d be no less difficult to access.”

Yang let out a short laugh, lightly tapping her metal fingers on Blake’s stomach. “Well, Blakey, we have a few things working in our favor in that regard. One, people don’t really expect assassination attempts in the real world. Two, well...” She chuckled darkly. “I mean, we got bin Laden, right? How much harder can a rich asshole in an ivory tower be?”

Ruby set her now-empty bowl on the edge of the table. “Without intel and logistical support from the whole US government?” she asked with an uncharacteristically-serious tone. “Pretty hard, I’d say.”

Her sister gave a nervous chuckle. “Rubes, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” the red-tipped woman protested. “Just helping you find flaws in your plan, is all.”

“So what else?” Blake asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Yang hummed, looking down at the black-haired woman half in her lap.

Blake tipped her head back enough to stare at Yang with one golden eye. “You said there were a ‘few’ things working in our favor,” she said. “You named two. That is, by definition, not a few.”

Yang rolled her eyes. “This is what I get for dating a bibliophile.”

“I’m honestly amazed you even know that word,” Weiss snarked.

“I’m _pretty_ sure it’s a mob in Gubal,” Ruby helpfully supplied.

“Thought so.”

“I feel the love, girls, really.” Grabbing Blake’s rising hand before it could be used to paw at her, she admitted defeat. “ _Okay_ , so that’s all I have.”

The black-haired woman could, at that moment, have been mistaken for the cat that caught the canary. “I’ll break you of those improper verbiage habits yet.” She looked toward Weiss. “That said, she _is_ right in that we’re all down to scheme some elaborate death plan for Whitley.”

“Shitley,” Ruby corrected.

“Just so.”

Lifting her head from where she’d been resting, Weiss smiled at the other three on the couch. “I know I don’t show it much, and for that I am deeply ashamed, but I really do love you girls.”

All three smiled at their white-themed friend’s proclamation, with Ruby’s in particular being bright enough to raise the room’s illumination level. She caught her girlfriend in a crushing hug she had undoubtedly picked up from her sister. “We love you, too, Weiss!” she proclaimed. “You know we’re _always_ here for you, no matter what you need.”

“Unfortunately, we’re stuck with each other for life because we’re dating the wonder twins here,” Blake told Weiss, her smile and the warmth of her voice making it obvious she was joking.

The German woman covered her mouth with her hand to keep control of her giggles. Yang didn’t bother, guffing heartily before adding, “You know what they say. Good friends will pay your bail, but best friends will be on the bench next to you giggling about how awesome it was.”

“I’m not paying any of your bails,” the short-haired redhead piped up from the opposite side of the table. She paused a moment. “Why are we paying bail?” She gasped and dove to the near end of the couch. “Are you guys going to break legs without me?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what they’re talking about, Nora,” the blond man at the end of the table stated. “Also, your turn.”

“The only legs getting broken anytime soon are the Garleans,” Yang remarked. “And _everyone’s_ invited to that.”

“Whoo!” Nora cheered.

“I’ll drink to that!” called a voice from the left of the four women on the couch. On that side of the room, an athletic blond man who didn’t appear to believe in shirts, a waifish redhead man whose attire indicated he thought himself a pirate, an orange-haired man in a bowler hat, a silver-haired man with a love affair for blacks and grays, and a dark-skinned green-haired woman in his lap, all sat on a long couch watching anime on the wall via a projector just behind them.

“As if you need an excuse to drink, Sun,” the red-haired pirate quipped.

“Says the guy with his own personal bottle of Captain Morgan,” the man in the bowler hat remarked offhand.

Before the two could devolve into a back-and-forth bickering match, the green-haired woman smoothly cut in, “Easy there, boys. Let’s save some for the game, hm?”

“Whaaaaaaaaaat?” the man in the bowler drawled in defense of his innocence. “I never said Captain Morgan was a bad choice or anything, Em. You _wound_ me to suggest I might be generating animosity with Scarlet here.”

Emerald rolled her eyes in amusement. Under her, the silver-haired man remarked, “No one’s buying your snake oil, Roman. You can turn the charm off.”

Roman tossed his hair obnoxiously. “Mercury, my boy, there simply is no turning off this kind of charm. Have no fear, I’ll restrain myself from wooing your lady away from you.”

Emerald gagged at the thought, then began laughing at the absurdity of the concept with such force that she rolled right off the end of the couch. A dull “Oof” was the only interruption to her gales of laughter.

Mercury smirked obnoxiously at the self-proclaimed smooth criminal. “I’m not exactly concerned.”

A consternated look on his face, Roman remarked, “I really _should_ feel offended, but I just can’t find it in me.” He reached into his pocket to remove his cell phone and check his newly-received message. With a scowl, he shouted into the other room, “That doesn’t count, Neo!”

“What doesn’t?” Sun asked.

Roman sighed theatrically. “Just a little ongoing wager she and I have. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Ren stepped out of the kitchen, brushing his hands on his bright pink ‘Please Do Nothing to the Cook’ apron. “Another batch of pota-” He caught the look Nora gave him and, with a sigh, corrected himself, “popoto soup is ready. As I promised, Yang gets first helping since she missed the intial batch.”

“I would love to come get it,” Yang called out, “but I’ve come down with an acute case of adorable in my lap.”

On cue, Blake snuggled closer to Yang and turned the page of the lore book, her self-amused smirk making it clear that she had no inclination of moving.

Ruby jumped out of Weiss’ lap and grabbed her bowl from the table. “I’ll get some for you, sis!” she announced, speeding into the kitchen.

“Extra onions!” Yang responded. “Love you, Rubes!”

\---

Several hours passed with good food, good fun, and enjoyment of all the friends as they whiled away the time until the expansion opened up for them to play. Yang hummed in contentment on the couch, her belly full of good food, Blake curled up and resting under her arm—catnapping, the bibliophile insisted, so she would be able to stay up the rest of the night gaming—and surrounded by friends that she practically considered family. _This_ was true wealth, and she knew both Weiss and Coco would agree with her.

“So what are you guys gonna do first?” Jaune asked from one of the camping chairs nearby. Their trivial pursuit game had long since come to an end, and now he was chatting with Yang. In the chair next to him, Pyrrha sat holding his hand.

Yang took a sip of the Nos energy drink in her free hand; she’d made a gas station run to pick up several of the cans to keep herself awake. “Honestly, that depends mostly on Weiss,” she answered. “She’s _really_ been antsy to get her hands on red mage, so we don’t know if she wants to do that first or story.”

“Would she consider using a jump potion on it?” Pyrrha asked. After a moment, she paused. “Or no, the patch notes said neither samurai nor red mage would get them.”

Jaune nodded in confirmation. “You know Weiss, though. She could probably grind it to 60 in half a day.”

“No doubt,” Yang agreed with a chuckle. “But she would hate to hold us up from doing the story. Me, personally? I figure she’ll wait on red mage and we’ll go straight to story. What about you guys?”

Jaune and Pyrrha looked at each other, smiled warmly—seriously, those two were too damn adorable—and said at the same time, “Story.”

A broad, menacing grin spread across Yang’s face. “Race to the finish?”

“Absolutely not,” Blake murmured against her stomach. “We are not doing that again.”

“I know,” the blonde said placatingly, running the fingers of her right hand through her girlfriend’s hair and scratching, extremely gently, at her scalp. “I was just kidding.”

“Good.” Blake all but purred under Yang’s ministrations and clung tighter to the overgrown furnace. “Don’t stop...”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Pyrrha let out a happy sigh. “You two are so good for each other,” she said dreamily.

“We totally are,” Yang agreed. She gestured toward the other couple with her can. “But _you two_ are like PB and J.” Her grin indicated her utmost pride in that unwitty pun.

Both of the nerds in front of her blushed, but she saw them squeeze their hands tighter. Sadly, neither of them reacted to her pun.

“Thanks, Yang,” Jaune said, his voice filled with his gratitude and sincerity. “It really means a lot to me.”

The blonde shifted her hand to massage the back of Blake’s neck, earning her a low groan of contentment. “No prob, dude. I know you don’t think you’re good enough for P-Money-”

“Yang, please,” Pyrrha winced at the silly nickname.

“-But you are _juuuuuuust_ the right mix of nerd, humility, and morality that she needs. You’re good folk, Jaune. Seriously.”

Jaune was blushing to the tips of his ears now. Yang laughed. “What, you have seven sisters, and you were never told by them or your parents what a catch you are?”

“They’re family, they’re obligated to say that stuff,” Jaune deadpanned.

Pyrrha switched the hand she was holding his with, and brushed her fingers over his cheek. “That doesn’t mean they’re wrong, Jaune. I _love_ you, for everything you are. Your insecurities and little quirks as much as your kindness and your grand romantic gestures.”

“They say nice guys finish last,” Blake murmured from Yang’s lap, eyes still closed. “But that’s only because they’re too good a person to push themselves onto others.”

The blonde gestured at the dark-haired woman as though to say ‘well, there you have it.’ “She knows what she’s talking about. She reads books.”

The trio shared a quiet laugh, and even Blake smiled at the silly comment.

Ruby poked her head around the corner, “Guys, Weiss is gonna sing for us!” she said excitedly.

“Oh, a rare treat,” Pyrrha said, standing and pulling Jaune after her into the living room.

Blake sat up and stretched languidly, then smiled at Yang and linked their hands together, following after the lead of their youngest friend.

In the other room, Weiss stood in front of the TV, the rest of the friends group either sitting or standing around the room as space was available. Ruby returned to her open seat beside Neo, while Yang and Blake squeezed against the wall near the stairs leading up.

Rather than wilt under all the attention, Weiss flourished. She rose to her full height, taking the time to meet the eyes of everyone in the room. A faint smile graced her delicate features.

“My friends, I want to thank you all for gifting me with your friendship, your compassion-” Her eyes drifted to Ruby, “-and your love. We came together in our separate little groups for one reason or another, but we are all united in this extended family group by our shared passion for _Final Fantasy_. By our ‘nerdom,’ if you will. We have laughed and loved and cried—even you, Roman—at the tale of Eorzea and the tale we have weaved into it with our own characters. In just an hour or so, we will all set out on our new adventure, and I cannot think of a group of people I would rather experience it with. From the bottom of my heart, thank you all for the honor of being in this small part of our lives.”

Ever the heart of the group, Velvet was the first to clap for Weiss, leading the others in applause for the German woman they all affectionately knew as the Ice Queen. Weiss curtsied in response, then waited patiently for the applause to end.

“Obviously,” she said, “this is not a song of my own creation. It is my hope that I can do it justice.”

She knelt to take a sip of water from a cup on the coffee table, revealing a YouTube search for ‘ffxiv revolutions instrumental’ on the screen behind her. She nodded to Ruby, who selected the first link. The violins cued in the beginning of the song, and Weiss took a deep breath.

“Sing a song of dawn,” she began, her tones carrying sharp and crystal clear. “Dawn, the day reborn. Breathe deep of the dawn before the storm...”

Intellectually, they all knew that Weiss was a talented singer—she had had a voice trainer in her youth and even had several published singles—but she was incredibly reserved with her talent, making it all the more special when she chose to display it.

“This hearth... this home... wrested forth from tired fingers...

“Bathed in blood and sealed in stone.

“Souls scarred. Twelvefold. Beckoned by the bells of vengeance, spirits bold.”

What surprised those not within Weiss’ immediate circle of friends was her emotional projection ability. They knew she normally had trouble expressing herself emotionally, and so to hear her metaphorically singing her heart out came as a pleasant, and welcome, surprise.

This, they felt, would be one hell of an expansion.

\---

 _A lover lost,_  
_A family torn,_  
_A solemn pyre  
_ _Raised to rouse the slumb’ring heavens_

 

Yang couldn’t help the little shiver of excitement that ran through her as she dropped into her seat at her computer. She deposited a bowl of warm potato soup—Ren had sent _everyone_ home with generous quantities of leftover food—next to her coaster that carried a fresh can of Nos and picked up her headset, brushing her hair back as she donned it.

“Thank you, thank you everyone,” she jokingly said into her mic. “Nobody get up or anything. As you were.”

“ _You’re such a nerd, Yang,”_ Sun quipped back.

 

 _Fire in your eyes,_  
_Fire in your hearts!_  
_Steeled,  
_ _As you sound the horns of war!_

 

The Discord server used by the members of the free company was rather expansive, at least compared to some of the other servers Yang utilized. Hosting well over thirty people, each ‘team’—consisting of the four who made up a light party group—had their own voice and text channel, as well as three full party channels and a raid channel for coordinating large group content. There was also a general voice and text channel for every day chatter, a ‘Pungeon’ voice channel that mostly existed to—unsuccessfully—curb Yang’s punning tendencies, art and YouTube text channels to keep the main one uncluttered, a spoilers text channel, and of course, a not-safe-for-work channel.

With only a few minutes left until the game came back online, pretty much everyone was hanging out in the general voice, with a few outliers having private chats in their team channels.

 

 _Yet know the cost,_  
_For who shall mourn,_  
_When light is quenched  
_ _That another might burn brighter?_

 

Spying Emerald and Mercury in their team’s channel, Yang typed into the general chat: stop eRPing down there, Em/Merc

Seconds later, Mercury shot back: don’t be jealous, blondie

of what? Yang quipped, adding a copious amount of winking emotes.

“ _Yang, don’t be a pest,”_ Ruby chastized.

“Whaaaat, it’s all in good fun!” Yang whined.

“ _Blake, make her behave.”_

A low snort met Ruby’s pleading. _“You are_ grossly _overestimating the influence I have over your sister.”_

 

 _Let not the rays_  
_Of justice blind  
_ _Entrust in grace and She shall guide!_

 

Yang grinned as she picked up her bowl and ate her soup as quietly as she could. Eating loudly enough to be heard over VOIP was both gross _and_ obnoxious. As she ate, she mentally reviewed her readiness to game: her snack drawer was freshly restocked with all manner of chips and candy, and the minifridge that doubled as her footrest held another four cans of Nos if she needed them. Though, if she drank eight energy drinks in one night, she’d probably give herself heart palpitations.

“ _I’m pretty surprised that Weiss is doing the weekend binge with us,”_ she heard Neptune say as she tuned back into the conversation. _“Didn’t she say she had three papers due earlier?”_

“ _They’re due, but I’ve finished them,”_ the white-haired girl responded.

“As expected of Weiss,” Yang remarked.

Continuing her thought, Weiss continued, _“I can afford to miss two days of class. Besides, I enjoy spending time with my friends.”_ There was a pause, just long enough to be noticed, before she added, _“And my lovely girlfriend.”_

“ _Weiss!”_ Ruby squealed with such volume that Yang could hear it from her room.

 

 _Soft is the breeze that can set a petal free._  
_And yet ’tis the storm that doth see the petal soar,_  
_High o'er the trees in the throes of liberty  
_ ’ _Til unstirring skies consign her to memory._

 

“ _Jesus, Ruby, you need a volume warning label,”_ Roman said with an audible grimace.

“ _I’m sorry!”_ the brunette replied, her voice muffled. If Yang knew her sister, she was covering her face to hide her embarrassment.

There came a little sigh of vexation. _“Little Red, I have no idea how you got this far in life with that innocence intact, but may you never lose it.”_

“ _It’s because of all my friends,”_ Ruby said cheerfully. _“No matter how bad it gets in life, I know I’ll always have the support and friendship of all of you.”_

“ _Ruby, I can see your glowing optimism clear from the other side of town,”_ Coco joked.

“Thank God for my Aviators,” Yang added in.

“ _Mom always says I’m the light of her life,”_ Ruby giggled.

 

 _One kingdom’s fall is another kingdom’s freedom;_  
_One sovereign’s war is another sovereign’s peace;_  
_One mother’s pride is another mother’s sorrow;  
_ _Their tears both soak the land that they love_

 

“ _My friends!”_ a new voice full of exuberance cut in. _“The servers are up!”_

Setting her bowl aside quickly, Yang grabbed her security token and entered the single-use passcode into her waiting launcher window. Just as stated, the green ‘PLAY’ button flashed onto her screen and she clicked it with a broad grin.

 

 _Two lives, two swords,_  
_Give an end to shadowed whispers: wicked words_  
 _Pray tell me who doth louder call?  
_ _A rival’s pride or the oaths that spur her onward?_

 

“ _Thanks, Penny!”_ Ruby said over voice.

“ _How does she_ do _it?”_ Roman asked, sounding flabbergasted. _“None of my sources are reporting servers up yet!”_

 

 _Your time is come,_  
_A choice bestown:_  
_Tonight for unsung sings atone!  
_ _This night you need not walk alone!_

 

Yang tuned them all out, leaning forward in anticipation as the title screen appeared. Gone was the snowy emblem of Heavensward, the great dragon clashing with the dragoon. In its place, smokey embers rose from the darkness, heralding the rising fires of war. A military-esque drumbeat sounded in her ears, and to the audible sharpness of a drawn sword, the title banner flashed into place across her screen.

 

_**FINAL FANTASY XIV** _

_**STORMBLOOD** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As demonstrated by the time taken between the prologue and this first chapter, I'm not a speedy writer. Between full-time work, school, as well as playing XIV and some other things I've dabbled in, I only have a finite amount of time to both play the game and write. And I'm only about halfway through the actual MSQ of Stormblood myself, being just on the verge of leaving Yanxia. So, we'll see how it goes. I DID tag this as hold onto your butts for a reason.


	3. Beyond the Great Wall

Yang leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath, rolling her shoulders to stretch out the tense muscles. “Well, _that_ was a thing,” she remarked, listening to the new quest completion jingle. It was reminiscent of a military chorus, and so consequently she ate it up just like pretty much everything else to do with the expansion so far.

“ _How’d your new job quest go?”_ Blake asked.

“Went with Curious Gorge and his brother to start giving some of Maelstrom’s marauders WAR training,” the blonde explained, grabbing her can to take a sip. “So we beat up a couple newbies and the marauder’s guildmaster...again... Then this Au Ra chick loses her shit and punts the guildmaster, his brother, _and_ Gorge into the sea. All the while Gorge got all goo-goo eyed at her so...that’s going to be a thing going forward. Anyway, I had to fight _her_ down. Shit was rough. Let me tell you, I am going to miss Bloodbath and Second Wind going forward.”

Blake, ever the lore nerd, had her interest piqued more by the new information than by the shift in mechanics of Yang’s job. _“She had Warrior training?”_

“Nah, nothing fancy like that,” Yang answered. “Evidently, her clan or tribe or whatever can use the Inner Beast all on their own without any training, but the first time one of them loses control, boom, exile.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s what happened to this girl, so she traveled west. Found out about our WARs somehow and came to see if she could learn to control it.”

“ _Sounds like you’ve got a student now,”_ Blake chuckled.

“God, I hope not.”

“ _But, but, Yaaaaaaang-sempai~”_ Blake teased, modulating her normally-monotone voice into that of a smitten anime schoolgirl. _“Teach me how to handle your ‘beast’, Yang-sempai~”_

Despite the horrible taste of the joke, Yang couldn’t help the clenching sensation she felt in her stomach at Blake’s tone and words. “Ugh, you read too much trash.”

“ _Honestly, I’m no longer sure who has corrupted whom,”_ Weiss cut in unexpectedly, causing Yang to jump.

“Jesus fu-” The blonde cut herself off, setting down her drink so she didn’t spill it. “H-how long have you been back?”

“ _Yang-sempai~”_ Weiss taunted, pitching her voice almost into orbit to mock them. _“Perverts, the both of you.”_

“Weiss?” Yang queried.

“ _Yes?”_ the other woman innocently questioned.

“Weiss.”

“ _What?”_ the German woman growled.

Grinning to herself, Yang leaned forward and rested on her elbows. “Be mindful, my future sister-in-law, about throwing stones in glass houses. _Particularly_ when the walls separating Ruby’s room from mine are _quite_ thin.”

There was silence for a moment, then Weiss said in a grudgingly-respectful tone, _“Touche, brute.”_

Ruby, who had just unmuted and undeafened herself after finishing her quest in time to hear Yang remark on the thinness of their walls, piped up, _“We’re all a bunch of perverts, to be honest.”_

The blonde rubbed a hand over her mouth. “Ruby, my dear baby sister. If there’s a top ten list of things I never want to hear you say, that’s at least three, if not higher.”

“ _Just saying,”_ Ruby answered, probably shrugging in her room. _“You don’t hide your stuff very well, sis, and that cat cosplay set looks like they match Blake’s hair_ really _closely.”_

Silence reigned for an uncomfortable amount of time, during which Yang quietly turned her chair to spy a black cat ear headband innocently dangling from her bedpost. “I am _so_ in the doghouse,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

“ _I believe you mean the cathouse,”_ Weiss smugly corrected.

Grumbling incoherently, Yang turned back to face her computer and banged her forehead against the wrist rest of her keyboard. “Fuck my life,” she mumbled under her breath.

“ _I think we can all agree...”_ Blake began slowly, attempting to play mediator. _“...That only among ourselves is talking about that kind of stuff okay. I like to think we’re that comfortable with each other.”_

“ _Yeah!”_ Ruby agreed. _“I mean, I don’t want to go and share all the sordid details of my love life with my sister—”_

“Thank you!” Yang cut in.

“— _But I love you guys, and I like feeling that we can talk about anything, you know?”_

“ _I agree,”_ Weiss said.

“Hear, hear,” Yang agreed.

“ _Besides,”_ Blake added in a cheeky tone. _“Yang and I are_ horrid _enablers of each other’s kinks. Nya.”_

The blonde shivered. “I love and hate you so much right now, Blakey.”

“ _I know. Now let’s get rolling on the MSQ.”_

“ _To Mor Donuts!”_ Ruby exclaimed.

\---

_Revenant’s Toll, Mor Dhona, Eorzea_

The wooden doors of the Rising Stones swung open, heralding the arrival of the four ladies who were among the known Warriors of Light. With the lalafell machinist in the lead, they made their way toward the sound of conversation coming from within. As they drew near, they caught sight of a young, white-haired elezen male wearing a well-tailored blue coat, Alphinaud Leveilleur, deep in conversation with a nigh-identical female; his twin sister Alisae.

“The question is, how will the Empire respond to the disappearance of Omega and the primal...?” he wondered aloud.

Of the four approaching ladies, three of them could move rather quietly when they felt like it. Rurumi Rumi, being a lalafell, naturally didn’t make a lot of noise unless she wanted to. Blanchette Saintrelmaux, due to her noblewoman’s upbringing, held herself lightly and had a quiet step. Masya Molkot, a _literal_ cat ninja, seemingly absorbed all sound that she would have otherwise produced.

And then there was Furious Bee. A Hellsguard roegadyn by birth and a warrior by trade, her definition of stealth was ‘if you kill everyone in the area, then no one saw you.’ So, in her usual manner, she lifted both arms above her head and belted out, “Hellooooooooo~”

The blue-garbed young elezen jumped in shock, one hand going to his heart to bring the rapidly-beating organ back under control. “Twelve forfend,” he murmured, but smiled anyway at the approaching quartet. “To think, after so long, I am still not wholly accustomed to Bee’s...vibrant greetings.”

His sister gave him a wry smile. “She does it _because_ it startles you, dear brother.”

“It’s true,” Blanchette concurred. “She’ll stop when you stop reacting.”

“Far be it for me to deny her the entertainment she seeks,” the young elezen responded, his mirth fading to be replaced with a frown. “Forgive me my dour demeanor, my friends. Word from Baelsar’s Wall is proving long in the coming, and my mind cannot help but stray to grim places.”

Masya shook her head. “There’s no need to apologize. We, too, are concerned over the lack of news.”

“And we _maaaaay_ have run out of things to do to keep us busy,” Rurumi added, toeing at the stonework in the ground.

Alphinaud chuckled softly at the admission. “Would that we had ought to offer you, my friends. But it seems as if all the realm is merely holding her breath, waiting for what shall come.”

Before anything further could be said, the doors flew open once more, heralding the arrival of another lalafell female, this one wearing a light red tunic and matching beret, and waving about a sealed missive. “Alphinaud!” she exclaimed, weaving past the others. “A message from the Alliance!”

“Well, it’s about time!” Alphinaud remarked, accepting the rolled scroll. “Pray, Tataru, summon the others at once.” He turned toward the inner sanctum, the Solar, but paused and glanced back as he ran his finger beneath the wax seal. “Might I inquire one of you to alert your comrades as well?”

“Already on it,” Blanchette answered, her left hand raised to her ear. “Johnathan, we have word. We’re at the Rising Stones.”

“ _Understood. We’re on our way.”_

\---

“You would _almost_ think,” Yang began, her tone dripping with both mirth and sarcasm, “that they were waiting until the exact moment we got there to send their news.”

“ _Yang, can you not?”_ Weiss asked. _“It’s the_ first _quest.”_

“What? I didn’t do nothing!”

“ _My ears...”_ Blake deadpanned. _“That double-negative physically hurt me.”_

Yang made an exaggerated, loud sound of blowing a kiss into her mic. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll kiss it better for you. Now what’s Weiss on about?”

“ _Probably your meta jokes,”_ Ruby offered. _“Maybe try to at least wait four or five quests? Even Deadpool doesn’t do it constantly.”_

The blonde took a sip of her Nos, then grinned and opened her snack drawer, rifling through its contents. “More like _Yang_ pool, amirite?”

Blake and Ruby both groaned. From Weiss, there was only muffled German cursing, along with what sounded like a forehead meeting a desk.

\---

_The Solar, Rising Stones_

It took less than half a bell for the remainder of the Scions to arrive at the Rising Stones and meet in the Solar. Along with the members of the former Circle of Knowing, four other Light-blessed adventurers had joined their fellows. Leader amongst them was a blond Midlander male in magicked heavy armor with a sword and shield; Johnathan Arkwright. Beside him stood a Highlander woman in burnished bronze-painted drachen armor, her helmet balanced on her hip to reveal her striking green eyes and long red hair pulled back in a ponytail; Sigrid Redsteele. Next after her stood a hugely-muscled Highlander man with short red hair and a rather manly beard, with a gleaming red magitek hammer hung from his back; Thorvald Brighthammer. Nearly hidden by the much taller man’s shadow was a by-comparison diminutive female Raen with long black hair but for a single streak of pink shot through starting above her left eyebrow, and an astrologian’s starglobe at her hip; Rei Fujioka.

“...General Aldynn reports that his forces have secured the breach in Baelsar’s Wall,” Alphinaud read from the missive.

Ever to business, the white-haired miqo’te in well-tailored conjurer’s robes, Y’shtola Rhul, asked, “And what of the primal and Omega?”

Alphinaud gave a disappointed shake of his head. “There is still no sign of either at this time,” he answered. “The general writes that they will begin a more thorough investigation shortly, and as expected, he wishes to petition the aid of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

Most of the assembled group nodded, not the least bit surprised by this request, but both of the two male adventurers, as well as the blonde Ala Mhigan Scion, did not share their understanding. “As expected?” Lyse Hext queried.

Alphinaud adopted a thoughtful look, considering how best to explain the political situation. “The Alliance’s decision to lay claim to a portion of Baelsar’s Wall is...open to interpretation...”

Seeing that the proverbial light wasn’t coming on, Alisae picked up the explanation, “The Wall serves to demarcate imperial territory, Ala Mhigo included, from the rest of Eorzea. To an unitiated observer, the Alliance’s actions could be seen as a prelude to invasion.”

Lyse looked between the siblings, her visage making it plain that the politics were well beyond her. “Well, that’s the point, innit?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Charge in, kick the Empire out, bring freedom and liberty to Ala Mhigo. Isn’t that the plan?”

An uncomfortable silence filled the Solar for several moments as the two young elezen exchanged looks. Standing amongst her team, Blanchette pinched the bridge of her nose and took it upon herself to break it down as small as possible. “It is not so simple, Lyse. If the Alliance were to storm Ala Mhigo right this moment, we would be no better than the Empire we seek to oust. The faces on the currency would change, but as far as the majority of the citizenry is concerned, little else would.”

The very thought seemed to shake the monk to her core. She rocked back on her feet, clutching her hands into fists. “Th-that’s absurd!” she protested.

“Indeed, it most certainly is,” Alphinaud said, nodding in turn to both women. “And that is why the Alliance remains ensconced within the Wall.”

A flash of anger appeared in Lyse’s eyes. “So you’re saying they won’t fight for Ala Mhigo? Even after everything that’s happened?”

Alphinaud stood his ground, showing no fear in the face of Lyse’s rage in the same way that one didn’t show fear to a wild animal—though that was, admittedly, a grossly unfair comparison to Lyse. “Not without the consent of her people, no,” he answered evenly. “Make no mistake, Lyse. The Alliance is in complete agreement that the Empire must be purged from Eorzea. However, they will not set foot in Gyr Abania until they have secured the consent and cooperation of the Ala Mhigan opposition.”

“Thus we are invited in, as liberators; rather than force our way in as conquerors,” Thorvald mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Though I find these political games distasteful, I see the necessity all the same.”

Y’shtola crossed her arms. “...They are to have us act as intermediaries?” she inferred.

Alphinaud nodded. “Precisely. The Scions are uniquely-qualified to serve in this capacity—that is to say, _Lyse_ is, given her personal connection to the Resistance.” He turned his gaze to the blonde fighter. “Who better than you to broker an agreement between the Alliance and the people of Ala Mhigo?” He paused briefly. “Assuming you are willing, of course.”

“Well, of _course_ I am!” she answered, gesturing emphatically. “You know I’d like nothing more!”

The young elezen smiled at her enthusiasm. “As for who should accompany you on said diplomatic mission...” He paused a moment again, for effect, then said, to the surprise of absolutely no one, “I had a mind to volunteer myself.”

It was an obvious choice, given that Alphinaud was easily the most diplomatically-minded of all the Scions, his talent rivaled only by the business acumen of the Ishgardian noblewoman, Blanchette.

“Well, that covers the talking part,” Lyse said with a wry smirk. “But we just know there’ll be trouble along the way.” She turned her gaze to the eight Warriors of Light. “Are you all available?”

Rurumi, being the appointed leader of her quartet, beamed warmly at the blonde hyur. “Of course we are!” she merrily proclaimed. “You didn’t need to even ask!”

The paladin of the other group nodded his head firmly. “As are we,” he affirmed. “And even if not, we’d be there anyway on behalf of our respective Grand Companies.”

Lyse smiled in return. “Thanks. All of you. It means a lot to me, knowing you’ll all be there.”

“I, too, shall accompany you,” Y’shtola added. By way of explanation, she shrugged and said simply, “Such endeavors are seldom hampered by a surfeit of healers.”

Never one to miss a sniping opportunity, Blanchette folded her arms and smirked over at Furious Bee. “She said having lots of healers is a good thing.”

The roegadyn warrior took a threatening step toward the scholar, but the lack of change of her eye color took away any true threat. “I know what she said!”

Behind them, Johnathan muttered under his breath, “I didn’t...” which prompted the dragoon to give him a reassuring pat on the back.

Standing to Y’shtola’s left, a lalafell healer wearing an oddly-cat-eared yellow robe, Krile Baldesion, giggled at the antics of the Warriors of Light. “Full glad am I to be blessed with the privilege to experience the light of life from all of you,” she remarked. “That said, Y’shtola has a good point. Allow me to offer my services as well. With four healers, I think we shall be well-prepared for any problem that may arise.”

Alisae chimed in, “I have spent quite enough time here for late, so I’ll be coming, but we will need someone to keep an eye on things.” She turned her gaze to her left, where a hooded elezen met her gaze evenly—insofar as was possible given the tinted goggles he habitually wore. “I trust you have no objections?”

“None, my lady Alisae,” answered the elder elezen, Urianger Augurelt, bowing partially in her direction. “Gladly shall I continue to serve as caretaker of the Waking Sands, and there keep watch for signs of primal and Ascian activity both.”

To Urianger’s left, a white-haired roguish fellow with an eyepatch concealing his left eye—for no reason—and two giant blades, Thancred Waters, concurred, “As capable as my learned friend undoubtedly is, there are some troubles that may prove too much for a single Scion. On account of which, I mean to stay.”

Alphinaud nodded, looking around at each individual in the room. “It is settled, then. Let us each see to our preparations.”

With the meeting thus adjourned, most of the Scions filed out of the room, leaving the eight Warriors of Light to confer amongst themselves.

“We all set to go?” Rurumi asked her team, turning and looking up at the taller women.

Masya nodded at her leader. “We’ve got a week’s worth of provisions, even though I suspect we’ll have no need of them given we’ll be in the company of a sizable army.”

In the other group, Sigrid was telling Johnathan, “We’re well-supplied for several days of unsupported operation. We’ll be able to gather what else we may need on the road, I imagine.” She turned an amused smile on the other Highlander. “Assuming Thorvald doesn’t reduce any game to a fine meat paste.”

The man laughed and slapped Sigrid on the shoulder, mindful of avoiding the spikes on her armor. “Any game which cannot withstand a blow from Mjolnir is not worthy of being consumed by our illustrious company, my friend,” he announced jovially.

Sigrid gave a little noncomittal nod. “As you say.” To Johnathan, she concluded, “We stand ready for the march to Gyr Abania.”

He smiled warmly at her. “Then let us be about it.” Turning toward the other team, he queried, “We’re all set, Rurumi. You guys good?”

“Yep!” the lalafellin machinist answered, popping the ‘p’ in the same manner as Furious Bee often did. “Time to get things going!”

The eight of them left the Solar, returning to the main area, where Alphinaud was conversing with Lyse and the lalafell who had delivered the Alliance’s message. Spotting the adventurer teams’ approach, Alphinaud turned toward them. “All in order, my friends?” he asked them. At the group’s gestures of affirmation, he turned once more to the smallfolk at his side. “Well then, Tataru, I leave the Rising Stones in your capable hands.”

Tataru Taru grinned broadly and curtsied. “Don’t worry, Alphinaud! I’ll see that the place is still standing when you get back.”

A new pair approached the gathering: a dark-haired Raen woman clad in purple _shinobi_ garb and a mountain of a roegadyn in Far Eastern clothing. Lyse waved at them as they approached, and the man nodded in return. It was the woman, Yugiri Mistwalker, who spoke, “Mistress Y’shtola has unfolded all. You are bound for Gyr Abania?”

Turning to their Doman companions, Alphinaud gave a nod. “Aye. The Alliance would have us make contact with the Ala Mhigan Resistance as soon as possible.”

Yugiri’s expression seemed distressed, and tinged with no small amount of remorse. “It begins, then. As soon it shall in Doma, if the gods are good. ’Tis but a pity that it must be now. I am sorry that we shall not be present to fight beside you in the battles to come...”

Alphinaud would have no such assessments of guilt, however, shaking his head solemnly. “You have stood with us countless times, Lady Yugiri. Pray, do not apologize.”

A faint smile graced the _shinobi_ ’s face; she had expected no less from the young Leveilleur. “Then let us thank you instead. You and yours stood with us from the first, when we came to this land as refugees in search of sanctuary. Loath am I to think what might have become of my people had you not extended to us the hand of friendship. We will never forget, this I solemnly swear.”

Placing her hands on the front of her thighs, she bowed toward the Scions, so deeply that she was bent almost double at the waist. Behind her, the much taller samurai mirrored her actions.

The gathered Scions and adventurers were momentarily struck silent by their display of humility. Over the long time that they had worked and lived alongside the Doman refugees, much and more had been learned about the Far Eastern culture, including their customs of respect. To see these two—of relatively-high social standing amongst the refugees in Eorzea—offer such a display of respect and deference was a sobering sight.

In an effort to diffuse the suddenly-tense atmosphere, Alphinaud said, “Much has changed since first you set foot on these shores. Revenant’s Toll stands as a testament to that. I am sure your people will manage in your absence.”

Rising upright again, Yugiri smiled, her pride in her countrymen clear. “Indeed. They have built a new home for themselves and no longer need me to shepherd them. The time has come for Gosetsu and I to return to our master—to our home.”

Lyse looked off to the right, overcome with a wave of sympathetic emotion for the two. “I know you feel...” she said. “It’s time I went home, too...”

Stepping forward, Gosetsu spoke up, his voice booming from the stone walls, “Though our battlefields be a thousand malms apart, our purpose is one! Let all men hearken to the clarion call of freedom—of liberation—from Eorzea to the Far East, that they may rise up and cast down the curs of Garlemald!”

Rurumi and Thorvald let out a cheer at Gosetsu’s proclamation. Furious Bee punched her fists together and exclaimed, “That’s what I’m talking about!” Even the other five gave nods and smiles of approval. They all shared Gosetsu’s ideals, if not so much his enthusiasm.

Lyse looked up at the samurai and grinned. “Take care, you hear me? When all of this is over, we’re going to celebrate. _Together_. Just you wait!”

“I should like that very much,” Yugiri agreed. “Fare you well.” Her eyes fell on the dark-haired miqo’te. “Masya, if I may have a moment.”

With a nod, Masya separated herself from her team—practically from within Bee’s shadow—and followed a few paces away with Yugiri as Krile, Y’shtola, and Alisae approached the others. Yugiri led her and Gosetsu up the steps leading to the door out of the Rising Stones, but stopped just short of the exit itself. Masya, as befitting her relationship with Yugiri, waited silently and patiently to be addressed.

“I hardly think it must needs be said,” the Auri woman began, “but where Gosetsu and I go, you cannot follow. You have your own battles to face, here with those close to you.”

Masya nodded her head. “Of course, _sensei_ ,” she said. “From the moment Lord Gosetsu arrived, I knew the day of our parting was close at hand.”

Yugiri smiled at her student. “Then my concerns are already assuaged. The timing is well enough, for there is naught else that I can teach you. Henceforth, we are no longer master and student, but equal _shinobi_. The path you walk from here is your own.”

The miqo’te bowed in the same manner that Yugiri and Gosetsu had before. “Thank you, _sensei_ ,” she said, using the alternative meaning of the title: one who has gone before. “I am honored. It is my hope that, ere long, we will meet again under the cloudless skies of freedom from the oppression of Garlemald.”

Gosetsu laughed at her words. “Ah, your love of literature shines through plain as day,” he proclaimed. “And lest I forget, I have a parting gift for you.” From his traveling sack, he produced a thin, leather-bound book, which he handed over to her. “It is untranslated, but I am told you read our written language as easily as your own. Though you are a shadow walker, the honor burning in your soul shines so brilliantly that I think you will find no trouble making use of the teachings in the _Hagakure_.”

Masya looked down at the book in her hands. Its bent spine, smooth-worn cover, and curled page edges meant it was well-loved and read often. Raising her gaze once more, she smiled at the older man. “I will cherish this gift always.”

“Until we meet again, little shadow walker,” Gosetsu said, bowing slightly before turning and exiting the Rising Stones.

“May the _kami_ keep you and yours safe,” Yugiri added, mirroing Gosetsu’s actions.

Masya bowed until they were gone, then turned to see where the others stood on their departure readiness. What she found was Lyse standing before the others in a new outfit, throwing some practice jabs and kicks. Gone was the frumpy white cotton shirt, replaced with a well-tailored red vest suited for the arid environs they were going into, with belts at waist, chest, and shoulders to hold it closed or allow the sleeves to be rolled.

Returning her attention to that conversation, Masya heard Alphinaud say to Tataru, “Your work never ceases to impress. Much more of this, and I may have to stop introducing you as the Scions’ receptionist and start referring to you as our preeminent seamstress.”

Lyse turned in a little spin to finish off her fashion show of the new outfit, then said, “It’s lovely, Tataru. Thank you. I feel like I could take on a whole legion.”

The lalafell smiled broadly, tipping her head at the praise of her work. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. “And with that, I’ll delay you no longer. Safe travels!”

With a nod, Alphinaud turned to face the adventuring group and clapped his hands together. “Then onward, to Gyr Abania! We’ll meet with an Alliance official at Amarissaix’s Spire in the East Shroud, then be escorted through the Wall to the Alliance headquarters on the far side.”

\---

_I remember crossing the border. Standing in Gyr Abania once more. Me and my fellow Scions, the Warriors of Light among us. Behind us, Baelsar’s Wall, cutting the land in two. Freedom on one side, tyranny on the other. Tyranny, and the promise of a new beginning. But one that could only be bought with flames and blood._

_\- From the memoirs of Lyse Hext, ‘Stormblood’_

\---

_Castrum Oriens, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance_

After what felt like too long a time being led through the steel confines of the Wall’s interior, the Scions finally emerged into the open air of Gyr Abania. The primary part of the castrum in which they were to be doing most of their business was a single straight thoroughfare leading from the secure gate of the castrum to the exterior battlements, with a newly-constructed aetheryte in the center of the area. Several Garlean buildings to either side of the main thoroughfare had been repurposed for Alliance use, mostly as storage for nonessential supplies. Troop housing and more critical supplies were kept safely ensconced behind the sealed gate. Just ahead and to the left of the aetheryte was General Aldynn’s command post. There was more greenery than some of the Warriors of Light were expecting, having concluded that most of Gyr Abania was arid desertland. However, the current region they were in _was_ colloquially known as the ‘East End’, that being the furthest eastern portion of the Black Shroud. Though the trees were a hardier, more scrub type than found in Gridania, there was still plenty of plant life to go around.

A constant hustle and bustle of activity filled the castrum. Everywhere around them were the livery of all four nations’ expeditionary forces, and even the varied and colorful attire of a not-inconsiderable number of adventurers. As it had over a year past with the crisis at Ishgard’s gates, the prospect of renewed hostilities with Garlemald and the liberation of Ala Mhigo had brought forth the unifying spirit of brotherhood throughout the realm in a way not seen since the Calamity.

At the head of the group, Alphinaud stopped and looked around at the sight. Here, tucked away to the left of the aetheryte, he saw a Lominsan marauder comparing hits on a dummy with an Ul’dahn gladiator. A few paces from them, an Ishgardian bowman was instructing a Gridanian on the northern country’s bows. A group of adventurers sat on and around several crates, swapping stories with their equal number in soldiers from all four nations. Alphinaud fair well felt his heart swell with pride in his chest. _This_ was the dream he had once held for Eorzea, a dream he had attempted to seize on his own with the formation of the Crystal Braves.

A dream he had once thought lost.

Rurumi stopped at the elezen’s side, poking him in the side. “Something wrong, Alphinaud?”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he looked down at the ceaselessly-optimistic leader of the Warriors of Light and gave her a content smile. “No, forgive me. It’s just...” He gestured with a hand to everything around them. “To see the colors of so many nations—Limsa Lominsa, Gridania, Ul’dah, and now Ishgard—as well as the adventuring citizens of the realm here in support as well, nigh brings a tear to my eye... We have much to be proud of, Rurumi.”

Coming up on Alphinaud’s other side, Bee gave him a staggering pat on the back. “We sure do, Alphy—”

“Please stop calling me that.”

Ignoring him, the roegadyn woman continued, “And it’s just as much your doing as ours, so don’t you forget that.”

“I’m inclined to agree with her,” Blanchette added. “Though we did the heavy lifting, it was your diplomatic talent that enabled this to come to pass. So as far as I am concerned, you may consider _this_ your legacy, and the stain of the Crystal Braves be wiped from your ledger.”

“Thank you, my friends, truly,” Alphinaud said, even enduring the annoying nickname from Bee. “But let us not waste time gawking. While you all attune to the aetheryte, allow me to report to the general in our name.”

The group split ways then, the Warriors of Light moving toward the aetheryte while Alphinaud and Lyse headed toward the command post. The remainder of the Scions milled about, taking in the sight of an Eorzea gearing up for war.

“The Alliance has done well to repurpose these imperial facilities for their own use so quickly,” Y’shtola remarked.

Indeed, as she had said, Alliance forces looked well-established and dug in for the long haul. Signage located in multiple obvious places directed toward barracks, armories, secondary headquarters for specific nations, and even eating and relief facilities. Taking a more proactive stance on defense than the Garleans had, the battlements were ringed with Lominsan and Ishgardian cannons, and at least one Dragonkiller cannon could be seen from their position. Though there were no draconic foes to be fought here, a single direct hit from one of those cannons could easily spell doom for any Garlean airship up to and including cruiser size.

“Talk about being loaded for bear,” Bee said, nodding her head at the Dragonkiller as she approached the aetheryte and raised her hand to attune to it.

“This is no time for half-measures,” the Raen astrologian from their sister team replied. “War has come, no matter how much it might be dressed in less provocative words. No less than the full efforts of the entire realm will be required.”

Thorvald, with one hand attuning to the aetheryte, laid his other on Rei’s shoulder. “They shall have the fullest measure of our devotion, Rei. And once my home has thrown free the shackles of Garlemald, soon, too, shall yours.”

“You got that right,” Johnathan said.

“Yeah!” Rurumi agreed. “And we’ll be right there with you!”

“Quite an atmosphere here, isn’t there?” Krile mused as she turned away from the aetheryte. “Everyone seems to be on pins and needles... Though one can hardly blame them, given recent events.”

“What surprises me is that there’s not any fighting going on between nations,” Johnathan remarked, looking around at the Ul’dahn, Gridanian, Lominsan, and Ishgardian troops interacting with no discernible signs of animosity.

“I’m pretty sure that’s why,” Masya replied, pointing to a passing squad of troops. Comprised of four soldiers, one from each of the city-states, every one of them wore a black armband with the letters ‘MP’ written on them in white.

“That makes sense,” Blanchette spoke out. “Having internal police drawn from all four nations ensures that there’s no favoritism. It seems the Flame General has considered every possibility.”

“Come, then, let’s go and make ourselves known to him,” Sigrid said, turning and heading toward the command post. As she led the group, a squad of Temple Knights passed them going in the opposite direction, their leader rendering an on-the-march salute to the Azure Dragoon.

“Heh, someone’s popular,” Bee teased over at the red-haired woman.

Sigrid offered a smile. “No less so than the rest of you, I simply happen to hold an official position and title in Ishgard.”

As the Warriors of Light approached the command post, they noticed that the Flame General, a Highlander man by the name of Raubahn Aldynn, was well deep in his military operation. At current, he was being briefed by an apparent adventurer, a man with short auburn hair wearing what appeared to be silvered mythril armor, a greatsword slung over his back and a large pistol holstered at his hip. He appeared to be giving the results of a recon patrol, prompting several of Raubahn’s uniformed planners to make marks on the large regional map that covered the table.

“Thank you for the report, Lieutenant,” the Flame General said as they drew within earshot. “You and yours are at liberty until tomorrow. Get some rest.”

The adventurer clenched both his hands into fists and brought his arms up, right hand over his heart and left hand behind his back; the salute of the Immortal Flames. “By your command, General,” he replied. Scooping up the mythril barbut that had been placed on the table, he turned and departed, meeting up with a short-haired miqo’te in green and white scholar’s robes.

Turning his attention toward the oncoming group, Raubahn raised his right hand toward them. “Greetings, Scions. On behalf of the Eorzean Alliance, I welcome you to Castrum Oriens.”

“Thank you, General,” Alphinaud answered, taking a glance over the regional map. “We were relieved to hear that your forces secured the Wall without incident. Have the imperials made any attempt to retake the castrum since then?”

Raubahn shook his head. “None. Save for a few skirmishes between our scouts and their patrols, we’ve barely had any contact with them. But we all know it’s only a matter of time before things escalate. As if attacking Baelsar’s Wall weren’t enough, Ilberd summoned a primal right on their doorstep. And Garlemald is not like to let such shows of defiance go unanswered.”

A round of uneasy expressions went around the gathered group at the mention of the attack on the Wall. None of them were comfortable with how that event had ended.

“’Twas a declaration of war,” Alphinaud said unhappily. “Even if it was not Ilberd’s to make. And now we are bound by it, for weal or for woe. Regardless, the Scions stand ready to serve, General. What would you ask of us?”

Right to business then. The Flame General gave an approving nod. “As I stated in my message, the Alliance will not proceed without the support and cooperation of the Ala Mhigan people. We would have you serve as our emissaries and make contact with the Resistance.”

“Consider it done, General,” Lyse replied, her pride evident in her voice as she rested a hand over her chest. “We won’t let you down, I swear it.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Raubahn said, smiling at his fellow Ala Mhigan. “Godsspeed to all of you!”

Turning away from the command post, the party didn’t get very far before they practically smacked into yet another familiar face. Still clad in the thicker wear he had adopted in Coerthas, the white-haired magitek prodigy Cid nan Garlond crossed his arms and looked over the gathered assembly. “Hah!” he barked out a laugh. “Of all the castra in the world, you walk into mine.”

“Master Garlond!” Alphinaud greeted in surprise. “What brings you here?”

“A certain missing Allagan weapon and draconic primal,” the engineer answered. “Omega and...Shinryu, I think the _shinobi_ called it? Anyway, we’ve been studying their trail of destruction, hoping it might lead us somewhere...which it has singularly failed to do.”

“‘We’?” Sigrid asked.

“We,” a feminine voice affirmed from the other side of the group. The Scions turned to see a pair of miqo’te approaching them, one with short dark hair and intense brown and red eyes, the other with long blonde hair that reached nearly to her ankles and faded to pink toward the tips. Both wore obviously-magitek armor that was somewhere in design between Garlean and Allagan. It was the dark-haired miqo’te who had spoken, and continued, “While Master Garlond is preeminent in the field of peaceful magitek applications and possesses a vast wealth of knowledge on Forerunner artifacts, a long-standing business partnership along with my more, shall we say, _practical_ knowledge of their technology has led him to contracting with Misriah Armory to search for the Weapon.”

“And so we yet get to make a new acquaintance,” Krile said happily, stepping right up to the newcomers. “We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. And you might be...?”

An unexpected squeeing sound took the healer off-guard as Rurumi barreled past her to exuberantly greet the two. “Chao and Myu!” the machinist squeaked, jumping surprisingly high to give both miqo’te a tight hug. “It’s been so long! What have you two been up to?”

As they conversed, Y’shtola stepped to the side and asked Blanchette, “You are already familiar with them?”

The white-haired elezen nodded her head. “When we went to Azys Lla in pursuit of Thordan and the Heavens Ward, Cid brought them along with us because, as he would tell it, he knows none alive with more knowledge of the Allagans than them. And again, when we went with Nero to raise Omega, they accompanied us.”

Turning her aether-seeing gaze toward the pair, Y’shtola scrutinized them closely. “And that blonde one, you trust her even knowing that she is artificial in nature?”

This prompted Blanchette to smirk. “That’s rude to say about Bee. No, we all know what she is. Her ability to interface with Allagan technology made that clear, if not the battle damage she suffered with that Garlean general. But unless acting in defense of others, she wouldn’t harm a fly.”

Y’shtola nodded. “Very well. If they have your trust, then they have mine, my own misgivings about such attempts at godplay notwithstanding.”

Blanchette gave the conjurer a look, but knew there was nothing for it. Y’shtola had always been the least trusting of the Scions, and the fastest to point out the flaws of the Spoken races’ actions. Shrugging it away, the elezen turned her attention back to the conversation at hand.

“Thus far, we’ve had little luck locating either the eikon or the Weapon,” the miqo’te engineer was saying. “The majority of what we’ve concurred to be their destructive trail is outside our zone of control.”

“Then it is the like that Omega fell to earth in imperial-held territory,” Thorvald concluded. “It may even already be in imperial hands.”

“Even so,” Cid said, seeking to assuage their concerns, “it bears repeating that we engaged the stasis systems.” He spared a tip of his head toward the blonde miqo’te. “And thanks to our lovely Allagan interface, we have confirmation that the command was received and executed successfully. The weapon _should_ be of no use to them. Should. That said, we should hurry up and find it, regardless.”

“All the more reason why we must needs reach out to the Resistance,” Blanchette said. “If we want to press on into Gyr Abania, we shall need their blessing.”

Lyse nodded in agreement. “Everyone’s counting on us,” she said. “Let’s not waste any more time talking.”

\---

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light_

 

“ _We’re not all united,” Lyse said, “sometimes at odds with each other, sometimes even violently, but we all share the same dream of an Ala Mhigo free of the Empire.”_

 

“ _Did she really just say ‘good eye’ to the blind cat?” Yang snorted. “That’s low, even by my standards.”_

“ _What standards?” Weiss deadpanned._

 

“ _Oh, hey, guys!” Ruby excitedly said. “It’s that guy from the South Shroud! Remember, he and his buddies were stuck there because the Gridanians wouldn’t help them and we had to gather parts for medicine for him?”_

“ _Holy shit, that_ is _him,” Yang agreed. “Talk about a way-back call back.”_

 

“ _On behalf of the Eorzean Alliance,” Alphinaud stated, “we do hereby extend a formal offer of military assistance to the Ala Mhigan Resistance.”_

 

_Rei closed her eyes solemnly. “At the Battle of Carteneau, the might of three city-states were barely a match for a single decimated legion. During Operation: ARCHON, it was much the same. As it stands now, even with Ishgard’s return to the Alliance, we would be but an even match against a single full-strength legion. And the Empire has yet eleven fresh legions.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kinda looking like a one chapter a month type deal. And would you look at that, it's been EXACTLY a month. I honestly didn't do that on purpose. But anyway, given my normally-atrocious writing rate, I'm comfortable with one a month. I'll try very hard to stick to it, I promise. I guarantee you, fair readers, that there are people in the background who will fight me to stick to that promise.
> 
> So this chapter was a pretty big experiment. Trying to play with my placement of out-of-game commentary from the team in the real world in relation to their RP actions in the game. For the record, consider them to be RPing the quests as they play them as much as possible, with the NPCs' unique reactions to them being handled by an as-yet-unintroduced GM-type player. When we get to instanced single-player content, we'll treat it as they each played it through, then afterwards are RPing it. Honestly, I don't actually RP in the game anymore and never did so as THE Warrior of Light, so I have no idea how the people who traditionally RP the MSQ wholesale handle it. I'm swingin' in the dark here, folks.
> 
> I'm considering affixing a secondary work to this that will allow me to give expanded backgrounds of the teams' RP characters, and I also plan to create an omake that I can use to put humorous little one-shots or backstory events from prior content.
> 
> Please look forward to it.


	4. The Promise of a New Beginning

With Cid and the two miqo’te moving deeper into the castrum, and Raubahn returning to taking the reports of his scouts, the Scions made their way into the open gate leading out into the countryside. As they drew near, Lyse stepped out in front of the gathering.

“As you might have heard,” she began, “there are numerous factions all resisting the Empire. We’re not all united, sometimes at odds with each other, sometimes even violently, but we all share the same dream of an Ala Mhigo free of the Empire.”

The other Scions listened intently to her explanations. Masya remarked, “I can but only imagine the strength that might be mustered from a unified rebel alliance.”

\---

 _“Blake!”_ Weiss cried out, aghast at a pun coming from the _one_ person in their group she had thought sane. _“How can you betray me like this?”_

Blake couldn’t help but grin as Yang and Ruby both burst out laughing. “Sorry, Weiss, I am absolutely not sorry,” the bibliophile said. “I’m not inclined to let a _Star Wars_ joke pass.”

_“Why must I be surrounded by such low-brow humor?”_

_“Because that’s the best kind!”_ Ruby cheerfully commented.

 _“Weiss,_ somebody _was going to make that joke,”_ Yang said, finally getting herself under control. _“I was working on Bee’s wording when Blake beat me to the_ pun _-ch.”_

 _“Ouch,”_ Ruby reacted to the secondary pun. _“You were really reaching there, Sis.”_

 _“The more it hurts, the better I’m doing my job.”_ The faint clank of an aluminum can on a desk lent Yang’s statement an air of finality.

 _“Let no one accuse you of not giving full effort to your ‘job’,”_ Weiss sighed. _“Now can we get back to the game? We’re holding up the narrative.”_

\---

Lyse smiled at the miqo’te. “It’s a nice dream, but we work with what we’ve got,” she said. “So, we’ll be dealing with the faction that has the most influence. Their headquarters are located in a place called Rhalgr’s Reach. It’s an old temple to the east of here, across the Velodyna River. Luckily, I know a route that should allow us to avoid imperial patrols. Stick with me and we’ll be there before you know it!”

Johnathan nodded and smiled at the Ala Mhigan native. “Lead on, then. Let us not keep our future comrades waiting.”

The group exited the open gate of the castrum, heading relative downhill through a light forest. Abundant flora and fauna were visible from the beaten path, from towering walking trees to oversized insects to ochu-like shrub life that followed their movements with their tentacle-like stalks. Nothing harassed them, however; even the aggressive creatures had the instinctive sense not to tangle with such a large group of heavily-armed individuals.

Signs of human activity also dotted the landscape. Wrecks of Garlean magitek weapons could be seen here and there, their state of decay and the presence of overtaking plant life indicating some of them had been there for some time indeed, possibly even since the Calamity.

“It’s so quiet,” Alisae remarked as she looked about, fair well expecting Garlean soldiers to materialize out of the gloom. “Almost as though the imperials haven’t been here for some time.”

“They certainly have no concern with recovering their losses,” Thorvald commented, looking at an imperial fighter crumpled against a rock formation.

“Why would they?” Blanchette asked. “Every loss they take can simply be replaced from an assembly line at little effort.”

“Is that some envy I detect, princess?” Bee teased with a grin.

The Ishgardian woman did not rise to the bait. “Of their industrialized production capacity? Yes. But no more.”

“I kind of agree with her, there,” Rurumi said, making idle adjustments to her firearm. “Imagine what we could do with production capacities on that scale.”

“That is, indeed, a goal of the Saintrelmaux Development Concern,” Blanchette affirmed.

By then, they had reached a crossroads in the forest. The path to the left turned into a switchback that led out of the forest and into the arid environs that they had been expecting. To the right, the path went deeper into the woods, disappearing into the gloom about a malm distant.

Lyse paused at the crossroads and took a headcount. “Nobody get lost? Good. From here, we’ll head northeast toward the river. The water’s not too deep, so we won’t have to swim.”

“That’s good,” Johnathan said, looking down at his heavy, metal armor. “I wasn’t looking forward to showing off my super drowning skills.”

“No worries at all, there!” Lyse responded with a grin, leading the way to the left at the crossroads.

The path meandered through the woods, across a bridge over a waterfall-fed creek. As the group passed over the bridge, Masya glanced down into the waters below to see if she could spot any indigenous—and hopefully tasty—fish species.

Beyond the bridge, the path dipped somewhat sharply down a hill, the forests thinning out as they progressed downward. As they neared the edge of the forest, one of the large walking trees wandered across the path. It wasn’t actively pursuing them, merely going about its daily routine. Regardless, the group paused to let it go about its business, hands straying to weapons. Just in case. Only Thorvald didn’t seem the least bit concerned with it.

“Leshy,” he informed the group. “Quite a good source of firewood.”

For several moments, the group simply watched the creature, then Blanchette furrowed her brow and considered the Ala Mhigan’s words. “Wait, you haven’t been in Ala Mhigo since you were a child. You aren’t trying to say you felled these things as a child?”

Thorvald laughed heartily. “Of course not,” he answered, then seemed to consider it. “I mean, I have no doubts that I _could_ , but I recall my father gathering from them when I was a child.”

By then, the Leshy had wandered away, having never even taken notice of the Scions. Back on their way again, they left the woods behind them, the arid, rugged terrain of Gyr Abania spreading out before them. Some hundred yalms ahead, the Velodyna River cut lazily across their path. Its waters flowed over a shallow bed from the north, appearing to be no deeper than knee height of an average hyur.

“Oh, yeah, that’s no problem at all,” Johnathan said as he came in sight of the river.

Lyse nodded her head. “It’s shallow enough to ford here, with the current pretty slow so it’s not a problem.”

Alisae stopped beside her brother and gave him a clap on the back that would have done Bee proud. “See, Brother?” she began with a truly shite-eating grin. “Nothing to worry about. Though no one would blame you for donning your buoyancy aids, just in case.”

Standing close enough nearby to overhear this, Bee snorted, struggling mightily to refrain from laughing out loud at the poor boy.

Alphinaud failed to notice this, too busy shooting a glare at his twin. Deciding to put her taunts out of his mind, he turned his gaze back to the river and murmured to himself, “At a glance, it certainly seems shallow enough...”

At the bank, the group paused. Lyse peered about the visible area. After a few more moments, she nodded her head and turned to the others. “Well, I don’t see any soldiers. So far, so good. Let’s cross here.”

With a series of nods and only some minor inter-group heckling, the majority began to wade the slow-moving waters. Catching sight of Sigrid glancing off to the south, Lyse paused, not even needing to know what had caught the dragoon’s attention. “You’re wondering about the tower?” the Ala Mhigan asked.

At the question, Sigrid looked south again. Seated in the center of the bridge spanning the lower half of the river, a steel parapet rose tens of hundreds of fulms into the sky, seemingly taller than the great spires of Hraesvelgr’s Zenith in the Sea of Clouds. A fluttering triangular banner displayed the colors of Garlemald, and near the top, a half-circular platform wrapped the spire. It looked capable of servicing airships....or supporting artillery that could fire on any part of the Fringes.

“It’s part of Castellum Velodyna,” Lyse explained. “That’s what the Empire decided to call the old bridge after they fortified it. _I_ call it a great big eyesore. Honestly, you can see that rotten banner from absolutely _malms_ away...”

Lowering her head, Lyse expelled her breath in a powerful sigh. “They never miss a chance to rub our noses in it, do they...”

Sigrid stepped forward, laying an armored hand on the Scion’s shoulder. “We _will_ see Ala Mhigo freed, Lyse. Though I now count myself a citizen of Ishgard, this is my home, too.”

Lyse smiled. “Sometimes, I feel like I lean too hard on all of you to keep my mood up.”

The redhead’s return smile was wide and bright. “There’s no shame there. We have all needed such support before, and certainly will again. And we are all more than happy to lend as much support as needed.”

With a nod from Lyse, the two women turned to the bank. The rest of the party were gathered on a river island in the center of the current, staring intently into the water around them.

Rurumi was the first to notice their wayward Ala Mhigans, her hands full with a pair of her self-designed grenades. “Oh, hey!” she called out to them. “Careful, guys! There’s crocodiles in the river!”

At that warning, Sigrid paused to peer more carefully at the water. Though shallow and slow-moving, it _did_ move fast enough to stir sediments from the bottom and create a murky atmosphere perfect for aquatic reptilians to hide in.

And there, halfway between their bank and the island with their fellows, just over ten yalms upstream of them, she could see a pair of eyes just breaking the surface of the water, silently watching for any sign of vulnerability in proximity to the water.

“You guys need help getting across?” Rurumi asked, passing one of her devices to Bee.

Sigrid looked to Lyse. “I can clear the gap with a single jump, but what of you?”

Looking past the dragoon, Lyse peered at the island, estimating its distance. “No, I can make that.”

“Very well.” With a nod, Sigrid tensed, and then propelled herself over a dozen fulms into the air with a single leap. Her body gracefully arced into a flip in midair, then she landed with hardly a clatter on the other bank, not losing a hint of her balance.

Turning fully to face the opposite bank, Lyse took a deep, calming breath to center herself. Focusing on her natural spirit energy, her _ki_ , she directed additional _ki_ to her feet, while at the same time pressing them as flat to the ground as possible.

In a blink, she was no longer on the far bank, instead standing among the others on the river island. A spray of water rising on both sides of her travel path was the only indicator of her passage over the river surface.

“Nice _shundo_ ,” Bee praised, tossing the monk a wink.

“Thanks,” Lyse beamed, stepping up alongside the taller woman. There was still a not-inconsiderable distance to the other bank, and several crocodiles were beginning to edge closer to them in anticipation. “So what’s the plan for getting the rest of the way across?”

Lifting the spherical device in her hand, Bee turned the upper half of the object, a series of clicks coming from the device. “A bit of percussive deterrence.”

Another series of clicks indicated Rurumi was doing the same thing. Lyse watched as Bee depressed a recessed button along the upper surface and took a step closer to the water. One of the not-so-hidden crocodiles drifted closer, expecting an easy meal.

Bee grinned and fast-balled the device into the water near the crocodile, exclaiming, “I hope you’re hungry!”

A few scant seconds later, two muffled booms erupted from the river, accompanied by twin plumes of water. The crocodiles that had been lurking nearby scattered, great splashes heralding their departure.

Grinning widely, Rurumi hefted her oversized firearm onto her shoulder and gestured to the far bank. “By your leave, lords and ladies,” she said in a fair approximation of the high accents they’d heard in abundance during their time in Ishgard.

Now unmolested, the group crossed the rest of the way to the far bank. Rugged, rocky outcrops dotted the landscape, marked by striated, multicolored bands of sedimentation at even intervals. After only a few yalms, the greenery gave way entirely, and what few trees remained beyond that point were barren, dead gnarls of wood. This, truly, was the Ala Mhigo they were expecting.

The wildlife was different as well on this side of the river. Thin, emaciated-looking flightless birds with vestigial wings could be seen scattered about the area, most of them roosting high overhead in the rocks, but a few wandering about at ground level. Several took notice of the party, watching them curiously for a few moments, but otherwise paid them no mind. Aside the birds, several large insects with swollen sacks atop their bodies were visible moving about the rocky crevices.

As they moved deeper into the rugged terrain, signs of other life became noticeable as well. Scattered, rusting hulks of magitek lay where they had fallen in some past battle. Their path, it seemed, was taking them through the site of some pitched former battlefield. As it had in the East End, the state of decay on the ruined machines suggested the battle had taken place many years past.

Following Lyse’s lead, the group soon found themselves at the foot of a rock scree between three adjacent cliff faces. As the group came to a halt, Lyse turned to face them with a triumphant smirk on her face, causing looks of confusion from the others.

“Uhh...” Johnathan began, looking around. “Is this it?”

Lyse nodded at the man. “Sure is! On the other side of this pass is Rhalgr’s Reach.”

Bee squinted in disbelief at the Ala Mhigan woman, then nudged Masya standing beside her. “Do the thing?”

The _shinobi_ raised one thin eyebrow at the warrior. “What thing?”

“That thing you do!” Bee proclaimed with a grin.

\---

 _“Who do?”_ Blake asked, barely able to restrain her giggles. Nora, it seemed, had lost the ability to control herself, as she had been muted and her laughter was _still_ faintly audible over Ren’s headset.

“You do!” Yang continued the joke, then covered her mouth to smother her giggles.

Surprisingly, Weiss had yet to interject on their little humorous detour, which was unusual for her even if she didn’t know the reference they were chasing. That, in and of itself, was fairly common.

 _“Do what?”_ Blake quipped back.

“The thing you do!” Yang finished, then immediately dissolved into giggles.

 _“I’m actually a little surprised that Weiss had nothing to say to that,”_ Pyrrha said after calming herself down.

 _“I make exceptions for the likes of David Bowie,”_ the German woman said simply.

\---

“I think you might be misusing the term ‘pass’,” Masya told Lyse.

Alphinaud nodded in agreement with the miqo’te. “As she says, all I see are rocks. I presume there is some sort of trick to this?”

To the side, Y’shtola closed her eyes and turned her head toward the scree. After a few moments, she pronounced, “There is, indeed. A glamour.”

Lyse gave a nod and a grin to her comrade and friend. “Good eye, Y’shtola!”

\---

“Did she really just say ‘good eye’ to the blind cat?” Yang snorted. “That’s low, even by my standards.”

 _“What standards?”_ Weiss deadpanned without delay.

 _“My big sister has standards!”_ Ruby proclaimed, a mock-offended tone to her voice as she came to Yang’s defense. _“They’re just...hard to find.”_

“Yeah!” Yang cheered.

A moment later, Ruby’s words caught up with her. “Hey!”

As several of the group giggled at Yang’s slow uptake, Jaune added, _“I mean, at least she doesn’t do ‘your mom’ jokes?”_

The blonde snorted again. “Pfft. Oh, Jauney-boy, you dear precious cinnamon roll, you’re fucking adorable,” she said.

 _“Clearly, you’ve never been around her when Adam shows up,”_ Blake added.

\---

“I take it they have a talented mage in their ranks,” Alphinaud said. “Or mayhap an artificer trained in the modification of glamour prisms?”

Lyse offered a little shrug; such things were well beyond her capability or understanding. “Something like that,” she responded. “The important thing is that it fools the Garleans.” She started to turn away, then another thought came to her and she stopped. “Oh, before we go in... I don’t know if Tataru told you, but my friend ’Naago, the messenger who came to the Rising Stones, is a member of this faction. So they know us, and shouldn’t attack us on sight.”

Bee muttered under her breath, “It’d be their funeral...”

Masya promptly elbowed her in the side.

“That said,” Lyse continued, unaware of that little exchange, “they can be a bit jumpy, so let me lead the way.” There was another momentary pause, then she added, “And don’t go reaching for weapons or anything.”

Fully half the group immediately turned to level their gazes at both Bee and Thorvald, of varying degrees of accusation. The roegadyn woman attempted to endure it for several moments, growing visibly more exasperated before finally snapping, “What!?”

Thorvald, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit offended that the team easily considered him the loosest cannon of the bunch. He simply said, “Let us not keep them waiting, then.”

Nodding in agreement, Lyse reached into a pouch on her hip and turned around, removing a handful of glittering sand-like particles before tossing them at the rock face before her. On contact, the dust immediately vaporized, releasing their aetherochemical properties onto the illusion. A section of the rock face shimmered and then faded away, revealing a continuation of the path and river beyond.

“And with a sprinkle of demasking dust, all is laid bare!” Lyse triumphantly exclaimed, proudly turning back to the others.

Stepping forward, Alphinaud stood in the boundary zone where the glamour had been, looking first at the revealed path and then at the remaining glamour. “Seeing it now, I feel rather foolish for not having deduced it earlier,” he said. “But only slightly. This is a remarkably high-quality glamour.”

“Impressive or no, twenty years is a long time for even so complex a glamour to escape the Empire’s notice...” Y’shtola murmured to herself.

“I suppose you could disguise almost anything with a glamour prism if you really wanted to,” Alisae said from next to Blanchette. She looked over at the taller elezen. “Have any of you ever used them?”

Blanchette began to answer, but before she could, Alisae facetiously remarked, “Why am I asking? Of _course_ none of you would stoop so low.”

Several amused looks passed in silence between the Warriors of Light: _every_ one of them used at least one glamour crystal in their outfits somewhere.

Lyse gave a cursory scan of the area around them, then waved the group forward. “Okay, it’s all clear. Let’s go, everyone!”

\---

 _I remember the old stories. How the Breaker of Worlds came down from on high and cleft the earth with a single blow._  
_Rhalgr’s Reach. A holy place, and a fitting home for the Resistance. For the brave and the true, the loyal sons and daughters of Ala Mhigo.  
They were waiting for us there. Men and women whose souls still cried out for what was lost. For what could be ours again._

_\- From the memoirs of Lyse Hext, ‘Stormblood’_

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by the Ala Mhigan Resistance_

As the party drew closer to the Resistance encampment, Lyse’s excitement grew visibly in direct proportion. Finally, as the natural rocks and sand began to give way to stone steps, fallen pillars, and time-worn edifices, she could no longer contain herself, dashing ahead of the group over crumbling steps with disconcerting ease.

“Let us pray that they are amenable to our proposal,” Krile was saying to Blanchette as they walked. “United, we stand to accomplish so much more...”

“Fascinating...” Y’shtola remarked, staring up at what appeared to be open sky above them. “A massive, nigh-imperceptible glamour encompassing the entire valley... I see now how the settlement was able to escape the watchful eyes of imperial airships.”

Johnathan turned his gaze up, shielding his eyes from the sun with his left hand. “I don’t see anything at all.”

“From this angle, you wouldn’t,” the conjurer explained. “As it is meant to hide from outside observers, to conserve complexity, the glamour is only visible from one direction.”

On the other side of her, Rurumi responded to the explanation with, “Ohhh... That makes sense.”

Ahead of them, Lyse had stopped, seemingly taking a deep and steadying breath before beckoning the others forward. Coming up beside her at the crest of a hill, the first thing they saw was a gigantic stone statue of Rhalgr carved into the mountain opposite them, one hand held to His staff, the other raised at chest level as if beckoning them to His place of safety.

Thorvald grinned broadly, almost manically, at the sight of the statue. “Full well does it feel to have the gaze of Rhalgr on me once more,” he said. “I am come home.”

Sigrid and Rei both smiled at their comrade, and Johnathan put a hand on his shoulder in solidarity. Nearby, the other Scions stopped beside Lyse and took in the sight of the statue.

“Ordinarily, I’d shudder at the thought of armed rebels trampling about in an ancient temple of immense historical importance,” Krile began, then shrugged. “But Rhalgr _is_ the Breaker of Worlds, so I suppose it’s rather appropriate, all things considered.”

Alphinaud added, “This temple was once home to the Fist of Rhalgr, as I recall.” He turned to the blonde roegadyn. “Is that not correct?”

Shrugging, Bee reached up her left hand to scratch her neck, then readjusted the scarf peeking out of her armor. “I’m sort of like a second-hand Fist—” Overhearing this, Blanchette pinched the bridge of her nose as Rurumi giggled and Masya rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been here and my training was kind of light on history so... I guess? Yeah, let’s go with yeah.”

Alphinaud nodded, apparently not catching the pun. “Yes... there is certainly no mistaking that statue.”

Beside him, Alisae also seemed to miss the pun, but for other reasons. “It’s hard to feel at ease with that giant statue looking down at you,” she murmured to herself.

As the group continued up to the crest of the hill that led down into the encampment, they began to gather company. Discreetly at first, a few individuals clad in the militia/survivalist gear that they had seen on some of the ill-fated individuals who had followed Ilberd to the wall, were now moving into to quietly close off their path back to the Fringes.

Lyse caught sight of a trio of men and women keeping pace with them through the ruins and brush on their left, and Krile noted similar numbers tracking their right flank. Masya saw a flicker of light and looked up, spying half a dozen archers on the ridgelines surrounding them.

Bee’s hands slowly clenched into fists as soon as she noticed the company; only that action keeping her from going for her axe. “Show of force?” she wondered.

“Test of nerves, more like,” Rurumi responded, looking remarkably calm in the face of armed—and tactically-superior—opposition.

“My nerves are already tested, can I go home?” Johnathan joked.

Three more figures approached from directly ahead, none wearing the identity-concealing hooded masks that the rest of their ‘escorts’ wore, indicating they were higher up in leadership. One, they even already knew: the miqo’te on their right had delivered to them the news on Ilberd’s assault at the Wall. The other two were both highlander males, their skin darkened by years of harsh sun. There, their similarities ended: the main the middle—obviously the leader—was approaching elderly, his face hardened and wrinkled, his hair whitened from decades resisting the Empire. The other man was in the prime of his life, dark-haired and fit, looking as though he ate Garlean troops for breakfast. An amused twinkle lit his eyes as they fell on the Warriors of Light, and his appearance stirred familiarity in them as well.

The man in the center stopped a dozen paces from the Scions, his comrades following suit. “Forgive us our precautions,” he began without preamble, “but we couldn’t be sure who had crossed the barrier. We see you now for who you are, though: the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Now, I know you would not have come all this way unless you had something important to discuss, and I’m eager to hear what it is you have to say, but let’s not do this on our doorstep, eh? Come with me.”

Turning about, he led the way back into the camp. Their ‘escorts’ dispersed, and as the Scions moved into the camp, the other highlander and the miqo’te fell into step with them.

“So, you really came,” the highlander said as he walked in the midst of the adventurers. “Even when M’naago came back telling how you’d gone off to stop the Griffin, I never thought I’d see you all out here. When we first met back in the Shroud, I took you lot for just another band of adventurers. By Rhalgr, how far you’ve all come...”

\---

Ruby gasped aloud. _“Oh, hey, guys!”_ she excitedly exclaimed. _“It’s that guy from the South Shroud! Remember, he and his buddies were stuck there because the Gridanians wouldn’t help them and we had to gather parts for medicine for him?”_

Yang leaned forward in her seat and peered at the screen, squinting at the non-player-character standing before them. “Holy shit, that _is_ him,” she said. “Talk about a way-back callback.”

 _“I feel like they’ve been doing that more, recently,”_ Blake observed.

 _“Good,”_ Weiss said. _“That sort of continuity makes the story feel more alive and gets us more invested in it.”_

“Amen to that, princess.”

\---

The giant statue of Rhalgr aside, the central fixture of the valley was an oasis fed by at least three visible waterfalls. A shrine was built in the center of the oasis, at the foot of the statue, connected to the main area by a Y-shaped branching pathway. Everywhere within sight, crumbling and fallen pillars marked the remains of the temple structure, the empty spaces in between filled with tents, training pits, and even a makeshift chocobo stable. Dozens of men and women in the livery of the Resistance moved back and forth across the valley, many engaged in some form of training or preparation activity, but most simply taking an opportunity to rest.

The older man led the group up a slight hill on the right side of the camp, to where the largest of the tents had been erected. Within was enclosed a table map similar to the one Raubahn had at Castrum Oriens.

“We plan operations here,” M’naago explained as they approached. She joined the two highlanders in moving to the other side of the table from the Scions, adding with a grin, “When we’re not entertaining important guests like yourselves.”

The older man gave her a glance, and she nodded and fell silent, recognizing that the time for serious discussion had come. The man turned his attention to the Scions. “Allow me to welcome you once more to Rhalgr’s Reach, our humble headquarters,” he said. “My name is Conrad Kemp, and I have the dubious honor of overseeing operations here.”

Stepping forward, Alphinaud gave a formal bow. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Kemp,” he responded. “I am Alphinaud Levellieur of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, as are the rest of my comrades. Before I speak of our purpose here, pray allow me to thank you for sheltering Yda—” He caught himself and cleared his throat. “Forgive me, _Lyse_ and Papalymo, at great risk to yourselves.”

Conrad gave a small smile and shook his head. “Now, now, there’s no need for that. They risked their necks for us enough times. ’Twas the least we could do.”

Now that attention was back on her again, Lyse seemed to shrink into herself, fiddling with the hem of her vest. “I...I wanted to...” she murmured. “I mean, about the mask and...”

The elder man’s face softened, gazing upon Lyse as though she were a beloved grandchild. The others could immediately see now why the Resistance followed him. “Ahh, don’t fret over that. You’re not the first person to take up arms against the Empire under a false name. We’d do the same if we had any sense.”

His voice softened to match his expression. “My condolences for your loss, child.”

Sigrid and Thorvald had moved in to support their fellow Ala Mhigan, the red-haired woman laying a hand on her shoulder. Drawing strength from this, Lyse took a deep breath and said, “Papalymo laid down his life to save us, to give us a chance to make a better future for ourselves. There will never be a better time to drive the Garleans from our lands. But we _have_ to take the lead on this. We _can’t_ leave it to fanatics like Ilberd.”

Dropping that name cast a pall over the gathering, akin to tossing a wet blanket over a campfire. Looks of anger crossed the faces of all three Resistance leaders. “More than a few of our people were taken in by his promises,” Conrad growled lowly, his hands clenching into fists on the edge of the map table. “Followed him all the way to the Wall. _Good_ men and women who never came back. When M’naago told us what had happened, how the bastard had made sacrifices of them all for his twisted ritual...”

He trailed off and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and several moments to get himself back under control. Not a single one of the Scions begrudged him that.

“By Rhalgr, it filled me with an unholy fury,” he said quietly, at last. “But what’s done is done. Best we can do now is see that it wasn’t all in vain.”

“That is why we are here today, sir,” Alphinad responded softly, sympathy inlaid with every syllable. “To see that some good comes of this tragedy. Therefore, on behalf of the Eorzean Alliance, we do hereby extend a formal offer of military assistance to the Ala Mhigan Resistance.”

“Do you, now?” Conrad asked, a tiredness in his voice that came unexpected. “Well, go on then. I’m sure there’s more to it than that.” With a nod to the older man, Alphinaud looked toward Blanchette, who nodded in turn. Drawing herself up regally to her full height, the elezen woman stepped forward and crossed her arms behind her back; a pose she had adapted from her older sister.

“As all are aware, the recent events surrounding the Wall have forced the hand of the Eorzean Alliance,” she began, alternating her gaze between Conrad and his lieutenants. “Lest we left the Garlean Empire an open invitation to invade the rest of Eorzea, we had no choice but to claim the weakness in the Wall ourselves. Yet, with the various circumstances present in each of the four nations—the recovery efforts from the recent end of the Dragonsong War in mine own Ishgard as an example—the Alliance is in no position to sustain an extended campaign against the Empire.”

“Question,” M’naago interrupted. “Three Grand Companies stopped the Empire at Carteneau. Shouldn’t you be in a better position now? Or is Ishgard’s contributions that little?”

A flash of anger appeared on Blanchette’s face, an outburst prevented only by Rurumi laying a restraining hand on her back. In the momentary delay, Rei shook her head solemnly.

“At the Battle of Carteneau,” she explained, “the might of three city-states were barely a match for a single decimated legion. During Operation: ARCHON, it was much the same. As it stands now, even with Ishgard’s return to the Alliance, we would be but an even match against a single full-strength legion. And the Empire has yet eleven fresh legions to spare.”

Having regained control of her temper, Blanchette gave a grateful nod to the Raen woman. “That is a succinct summary of the military situation. The political situation is just as tenuous. Ala Mhigo, despite her current imperial occupation, is yet a sovereign country. Should we advance any further into Gyr Abania under current conditions, all and sundry would rightfully brand us invaders. To wit, we would be no better than the Garleans we seek to oust.

“To that end, we seek the approval and invitation to act from those who represent Ala Mhigan interests,” the white-haired elezen continued. “In exchange, the Eorzean Alliance will provide military support to the Ala Mhigan Resistance of both materiel and monetary nature. Of course, this also includes manpower support in joint operations.”

Conrad, who had until then listened in silence, crossed his arms once she had finished speaking. “...So that’s the way of it, eh? The Alliance, hoping to avoid a direct confrontation with the vastly superior forces of the Empire, wishes to engage them by proxy with our vastly inferior ones?”

Most of the Scions were taken aback by this scathing appraisal. Blanchette, on the other hand, took it in stride, even having the gall to appear offended. “My good sir, are you unaware of the fact that the Alliance expeditionary forces are led under the auspices of the Immortal Flames, the unquestioned most militant of the four Grand Companies?” she asked in faux surprise. “That over sixty percent of Alliance ranks are comprised of veterans of battle against Garlemald, many of whom have scores to settle with the Empire? And that the expeditionary commander is none other than General Raubahn Aldynn? Honestly, the belief that the Alliance will not spill our share of blood—our own and our enemy’s—is the very height of ignorance.”

Now many of the Scions, and Conrad’s lieutenants aside, were staring at Blanchette in bald-faced shock. The older man, however, grinned at the elezen. “I like your frankness, girl,” he said. “Very well. I stand corrected. Now, my comrades and I must confer on your proposal. A moment, if you please.”

After taking a moment to compose himself from the unexpected development, Alphinaud nodded and replied, “Of course, Master Kemp. Take all the time you require.” Turning away from the map table, he regarded his comrades. “So...it would seem we find ourselves with a surfeit of free time—”

“Ah, forgive me,” Conrad spoke up, looking away from his conference. “You are free to look around Rhalgr’s Reach. In fact, I would encourage you to do so. It’ll give you a better grasp of our current circumstances.”

Alphinaud turned back and inclined his head. “Thank you, Master Kemp. I believe we will do just that.” He bowed to Conrad just before the elder man and the others departed, then turned back to the Scions. “Let us make the most of this opportunity and assess the Resistance’s capabilities,” he suggested.

Alisae grinned at her brother. “Free to poke our noses wheresoever we will, eh? I like the sound of that.”

Bee matched her grin, and Alphinaud gave a little sigh of vexation. “I fear that our stunning comrade has begun to wear off on you, dear sister,” he said as the two of them set off down the hill.

Y’shtola and Krile soon followed, and only Lyse and the Warriors of Light were left behind. The blonde woman stretched for a moment, then said, “Well, I already know this place inside out. I can show you guys around if you like?”

Rurumi and Johnathan looked among their teams, and when no disagreements were given, the paladin answered, “That sounds good to us, Lyse. We’ll get the VIP tour.”

Lyse laughed and waved them on. “Great! Let’s get started.”

As the nine Scions started down the hill, Lyse went straight into it. “I’ll bet you think the Resistance is mostly made up of Ala Mhigan highlanders like me, but the truth is that we don’t even account for half. We’ve got Hellsguard from all the way over by the Spine in here, and a _lot_ of Seekers of the Sun like ’Naago.”

Sigrid and Thorvald nodded as though this were old news, and to the Ala Mhigan expatriates it probably was. Johnathan looked around and nodded. “So the Resistance is just as mixed a bag as the Alliance is,” the paladin said.

“In diversity, strength,” Blanchette said in agreement.

Johnathan pointed ahead of them, where a tall, humanoid serpentine figure conversed with several other Resistance members. “What about them?”

Lyse followed his gesture. “Ah, she’s one of the beastmen—well, beast _women_ , I suppose—that have been with us for a while now. She’s an Ananta.” There was a momentary pause, then she added, “At least, one faction of them is with us. To the others, we’re no different from the Garleans, so they won’t have anything to do with us. They keep to themselves, spending all their time crafting. They make the most amazing jewelry, by the way, using magic to twist metal and crystal into shapes you wouldn’t believe. It’s some kind of religious thing for them, I’ve heard.”

Near the middle of the group, Masya frowned slightly at Lyse’s use of the term ‘beastmen.’ These Ananta were clearly no less sapient than any of the Spoken races, and to refer to them as beastmen was demeaning in the extreme, in her opinion. However, she recognized that now was not the time to air such grievances, and resolved to speak with Lyse about it privately later.

“Let’s take a closer look at the statue of Rhalgr, shall we?” Lyse was saying.

As one, the group headed along the shore of the oasis, their goal the stone pathway that extended out into the center of the waters, where a shrine bearing Rhalgr’s symbol was built. As the two branching approaches converged on the central path and the group drew near, Lyse looked up at the statue and spoke, “Pretty awe-inspiring, isn’t it? The Breaker of Worlds, who guided our ancestors to these lands all those centuries ago.”

From her position near the edge of the floating shrine, she looked down into the waters beneath them, seeing reflected back up at her a face that she barely recognized as her own. Subdued, she continued, “Yda used to tell me the story on stormy nights. She wanted me to understand. To remember…”

Before any of the adventurers could begin to move in to comfort her, Lyse closed her eyes, stopping before the shrine of Rhalgr, and recited from memory, “At the end of the Fifth Astral Era, when the waters rose higher and higher, people all across Eorzea beseeched the heavens for a sign. And lo, a burning star appeared in the eastern sky, and led the way to these mountains of Gyr Abania. They who were saved by His grace pledged to honor and revere Him. To devote themselves to great works without and within…”

Blanchette’s gaze shifted across the centerpiece of the shrine, a stone monument with the symbol of Rhalgr carved into it, and realized that the words Lyse were presently recounting were carved into the stone as well:

 

 _A storm of blood approaches fast_  
_Hells open, Heavens weep_  
_For no one soul doth lie beyond  
The measure of His Reach_

 

Lyse opened her eyes to see the elezen woman reading from the shrine and gave a thin smile. “That last part was inscribed by a monk of the Fist,” she explained. “Yda told me, ‘A day will come bringing strife and sorrow that none may escape. Waste not these precious hours, but in quiet preparation make strong the body and soul.’”

“And here we stand upon that precipice,” Thorvald said gravely.

Lyse gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know if that ‘storm of blood’ is finally upon us,” she answered. “But if it is, I have to believe that everything we’ve been through, everything that has led us to this point, will see us through in the end.”

The sentiment of a gathering storm was one shared by the Warriors of Light. These, they knew, were merely the opening days of a far greater conflict. Lyse’s late sister--and indeed, the monk who had scribed those words--knew well beyond their own times.

“Even when the journey becomes so difficult that we cannot fathom the goal,” Rei began softly, her own eyes closed, “best we look to our feet and simply focus on the next step. And above all else, always keep moving forward.”

Sigrid smiled warmly at the Raen woman. “Well said.”

“Profound words, indeed,” Blanchette agreed. “And ones we would do well to live our lives by.”

The auri woman gave a bittersweet smile. “It was my younger brother’s life philosophy.”

Lyse winced at the suddenly-heavy atmosphere. “Sorry,” she said. “This is all getting a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? Let’s keep moving, right?” At this, she sent a smile of her own toward Rei. “Off to the infirmary!”

As the group made their way away from the shrine, taking the right branch of the stone pathway, Bee slowed her pace to fall toward the back of the gathering. Masya automatically matched her pace. “Somehow, I doubt stopping by a place of the sick and wounded is going to do much to change the atmosphere,” the roegadyn stage-whispered to the miqo’te.

With a wry smirk, Masya nudged her in the side with her elbow. “Have more faith in Lyse and the rest of us,” she gently chastised. “Besides, you’re the mostly likely of us all to wind up there, so best you become familiar with it.”

“Hey…” Bee grumbled, but pressed no further. Masya was--as usual--absolutely right.

On the other side of the oasis, they crossed the dusty grounds toward a set of structures that appeared to have been hewn from the very rock. On the way, they passed by one of the serpentine Ananta warriors engaged in an instructory spar with two Resistance fighters. Several of the adventurers watched as they made their way past, observing how the Ananta used her anatomy to her advantage in the spar.

The camp’s infirmary was a series of chambers cut from the rock face, and not in the hasty manner of a rebel movement in immediate need of emergency facilities. No, it appeared that their infirmary was part of the original temple complex.

They entered between several worn pillars, guarded by a roegadyn in Resistance gear who looked as though he could strike a Garlean dead at twenty paces with his disapproving glare alone. A little further in, in what looked to be a rest and recovery room, Lyse turned back toward them.

“This is the infirmary, as you can tell,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Here’s where the Resistance healers patch up the wounded and tend to the sick. No matter how carefully we plan our operations, casualties are inevitable. It’s a sad thing to think about, but it’s also important to remember the cost, as Conrad would say.”

She looked around for a few moments. Aside from them, a pair of Resistance fighters conversing quietly nearby, and Y’shtola and Krile tending to the one visible patient, the recovery room seemed empty. But that made sense, given the Resistance was currently in a manpower recovery phase and not capable of mounting operations.

“We should go,” Lyse finally said. “I’ll show you the aetheryte plaza next.”

Heading back out the way they came, the party crossed the grounds once more, swinging to the south of the central oasis. On the way, reminded by Lyse’s mention of their next destination, they paused to attune to the miniature aetheryte near the infirmary, then continued on their way.

The aetheryte plaza, they noticed, appeared to likewise be part of the original structure of the temple. The familiar blue glow had been noticed by most of the party when they were being led through before, but none had been willing to risk the ire of their hosts by running off to attune. Now, they held no such qualms.

“When you’ve seen one aetheryte, you’ve seen them all, right?” Lyse asked jokingly as the others attuned. “Not quite. This one’s an older design, dating back decades to when the Fist of Rhalgr was still here. It may look a little different, but it works just as well as any other. Come on, I’ll show you to the sutlers.”

They passed out of the aetheryte plaza, moving to the small gathering of tents that they had already passed on the way to Conrad’s command tent. Close to a dozen tents were clustered together, with the open space between them clogged with crates of varying items, the crates themselves marked with an assortment of different merchant insignia.

“Arms, armor, potions,” Lyse said as they drew near. “You name it, these folks have got it. The Resistance would be in a bad way without brave merchants to keep it provisioned. If you’re short on anything, or need something rep… Oh, that’s right, you all maintain your own gear. Well, other than _that_ , these are the people to speak to.”

Looking around the merchant camp, Lyse spotted two of their companions speaking with an Ishgardian merchant. “Oh, it’s Alphinaud and Alisae. Let’s see how they’re getting on.”

The aforementioned elezen spotted the group as they approached. “Come to take the measure of our friendly neighborhood merchants?” Alisae asked with a sly grin. “They’re a bold lot, that much is plain. If the Empire found out they were peddling their wares to the Resistance, they would be lucky to escape with their lives.”

“’Tis a gamble, aye,” her brother agreed, “and I admire their courage. But their motives could hardly be said to be altruistic…”

Blanchette gave a short-breathed sigh. “It is, unfortunately, the name of the game,” she said. “Even I will have to appeal to greed in order to coerce my family’s merchants to business here.”

While the twins nodded in understanding, Lyse appeared taken aback. “Blanche, do you mean it?” she asked. “You’ll get the SDC to supply the Resistance?”

The scholar appeared slightly offended. “Of course I will. What did you _think_ I meant when I promised Master Kemp monetary and materiel aid?”

Lyse was silent for a moment. “Umm… That you were speaking for the Alliance?”

Blanchette pinched the bridge of her nose. Beside her, Rurumi giggled softly. “I was,” the elezen said slowly. “But I also spoke as heiress of the SDC. I have more to contribute to this venture than my arcane might.”

“Which is more than the rest of us can say,” Bee grinned, slamming her fists together.

Masya looked past the blonde warrior as M’naago approached. “Ah, here you all are,” the Resistance fighter said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. We’ve finished discussing your proposal, and we’re ready to receive you all back at the tent. I’ve sent someone to fetch Y’shtola and Krile, so if you’d like to follow me…”

After receiving nods of acquiescence, M’naago turned on her heel and began heading back to the command tent. Rurumi, Blanchette, Masya, and Bee loitered toward the back of the group.

“So?” Rurumi asked.

All four of them had recognized that M’naago had been actively trying to be as neutral as possible in order to not give them any indication as to the outcome of the discusson. While it had worked on most of the Warriors of Light, Blanchette was a businesswoman who had experienced a lifetime of serpentine Ishgardian politics. They highly doubted that M’naago’s act would have fooled her.

“Yes, I saw right through her,” the elezen woman answered without elaborating.

Bee, being Bee, wasn’t content with that. “Ah, but you’re not mad or seem discouraged, so it’s gotta be good news, right?”

“Must it?” Blanchette asked, one slender eyebrow raised.

Bee faltered; their companion was _exceptionally_ experienced at concealing her feelings. “Shite…” the roegadyn grumbled.

A small smirk on her face, Blanchette stepped up her pace, following the others up to the command tent. At the tent, Y’shtola and Krile were already waiting when they arrived, M’naago returning to her place at Conrad’s side. The older man swept his gaze across the Scions, taking the measure of them once more.

“Thank you all for waiting,” he said. “We have reached a consensus.”

The Scions were silent to a man, waiting for the coming proclamation.

“I, Conrad Kemp, do hereby accept the Eorzean Alliance’s proposal.” Before the held energy amongst the Warriors of Light could erupt into celebrations, he added, “You must understand, however, that our cooperation comes with certain caveats.”

Alphinaud had expected no less. He simply inquired, “Those caveats being?”

“I take no joy in this, just so you know,” Conrad sighed. “Were it within my power, I’d offer you more assistance. But the Resistance is far more fragmented than you realize. The men and women in my care belong to but one of many factions. Simply put, I can only speak for the people of Rhalgr’s Reach.”

“We’ve heard some of it from Lyse,” Bee said with a nod of understanding. “Sounds like you guys are in need of a unified rebellion.”

\---

 _“It’s not funny the second time around,”_ Weiss said dryly. _“It wasn’t even funny the first time.”_

“Don’t caaaaaaaaaaaare~” Yang sing-songed, tossing her empty can in the waste bin under her desk. “And besides, the worse the joke, the better.”

 _“That’s not how that works,”_ Blake remarked.

\---

Conrad nodded. “You’ve got the right of it, aye. Now, I have every intention of appealing to the others, and I expect many will agree. But it will take time, and I cannot guarantee universal support.”

“We understand perfectly,” Alphinaud said with a nod. “I shall see that the Alliance is under no misapprehensions as to your position.”

“Much obliged, but that’s not the whole of it. As you can imagine, the loss of those who cast their lot with the Griffin left us short on numbers. Some of our most trusted veterans died at the Wall, and we’ve had to fill their posts with the young and inexperienced. Frankly, everything is in a right bloody mess.”

“We’d be more than happy to help you get back on your feet,” Lyse offered. “If we’re going to work together, we’ll be doing ourselves a favor!”

“Well there’s no shortage of work to be done, that’s for sure,” Conrad said, nodding. “We’re in dire need of new blood, too.”

“Y’shtola and I could lend a hand in the infirmary,” Krile suggested, to which the miqo’te nodded in agreement. “From what I saw, they could do with a few more healers.”

“For my part,” Alphinaud said, “I shall return to the Rising Stones. I am certain there are others among the Scions who would welcome the opportunity to fight for Ala Mhigan liberation.”

“That’s a good idea!” Rurumi exclaimed. “We know of some people who could help, too!”

Krile, Y’shtola, and Alphinaud departed, leaving the Warriors of Light alongside Lyse and Alisae. “Umm… Is there anything we can do to help?” Lyse asked.

Conrad nodded. “I had something else in mind for you lot. Meffrid and M’naago will fill you in.”

The two lieutenants moved around the table to stand before the Scions. Crossing his arms, the highlander grinned at his compatriot. “So, we’re to fight for the attentions of the Warriors of Light, eh, M’naago?” he asked jokingly.

The miqo’te put her hands on her hips and gave a fangy grin in return. “Aye, that sounds the way of it, Meffrid. Well, let’s get ’em acquainted with what we’ve got for them, eh?”

Nodding, Meffrid dropped his jovial expression. “I’ll be heading out into the Peaks today,” he said. “Conrad thinks we might have some lucky finding new recruits in Ala Gannha, a village to the east of here.”

Lyse gasped aloud. “If you’re going to Ala Gannha, you’re definitely taking me with you!”

“That’s right, you’re from Ala Gannha, aren’t you, Lyse?” Meffrid nodded his head. “By all means, you’re welcome to come along. There’ll be more to it than just talking, but that’ll be later.”

“And I,” M’naago said, “have been entrusted by Commander Kemp to deliver a formal reply to the Alliance leadership. It covers everything we discussed, as well as detailing the disposition of our forces. What I’m in need of is an escort. Just a few of you, so we can move swiftly and without attracting any undue attention.”

Alisae nodded. “Well, as Lyse has volunteered to accompany Meffrid, I shall accompany you in this. General Aldynn commands the Alliance garrison at Castrum Oriens, as Blanchette mentioned. It should be easy enough to see it into his hands.”

As the two of them spoke, the Warriors of Light circled the proverbial wagons to discuss the matter amongst themselves.

“So, what’s the plan?” Thorvald asked.

“M’naago would rather not have us all along with her,” Rei mentioned. “We stand a higher risk of being noticed by imperial patrols in a larger group.”

“It appears that splitting up will be in the cards for us,” Sigrid observed. “How do we want to do this?”

“Usual teams?” Masya suggested.

After several nods and other assertations of agreement, Johnathan said, “If you guys don’t mind, we’ll escort M’naago back to the castrum.”

“Works for us,” Rurumi answered. “Anybody else got anything?”

No one did.

“Then let’s get going, team!”

\---

 

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light_

 

“ _Alright, ladies! Time for Team RWBY to play the hearts and minds game!”  
_ “ _We are_ so _doomed.”_

 

“ _It feels strange coming home like this. I always imagined it would be...”_

 

“ _Cold comfort to the dead and the ones they left behind! How much more must we give before you’ve had your fill?”_

 

“ _Partisans,” Blanchette hissed. “Local citizens loyal to the Empire, who would turn their blades on their own countrymen at the bidding of their masters. I am_ intimately _familiar with their ilk.”  
_ “ _She means the heretics,” Masya explained for Meffrid’s benefit. “Ishgardians who threw in their lot with the dravanians during the war.”_

 

“ _Lyse, Bee, stop!” Meffrid hissed. “Think you can kill all of them? Even the ones in the towers?”_  
_The roegadyn growled low in her throat. “Rurumi’s sharpshooting can nail the watchers, and between the rest of us, these assholes wouldn’t stand a chance.”  
__Maysa laid a restraining hand on her partner’s elbow. “It’s not worth it,” she whispered. “It will only make things worse.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that one chapter a month really worked out, didn't it? But this is part of the consequences of being occupied by either school or work literally seven days a week. That said, I'm going to take some time to focus more on my other project, so the next installment of this may be a bit longer in coming. Or not; I've already started on said next chapter.


	5. Side A - The Prodigal Daughter (Team RWBY)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider queuing up "Home" from the RWBY volume 4 soundtrack in a background tab for certain scenes. You'll know them when you get there.
> 
> You're welcome.

After a brief interlude to check on their supplies—in the real world meaning bathroom breaks and replenishing snacks—the team of Rurumi, Blanchette, Masya, and Bee, along with Lyse, found Meffrid in one of the old temple sections built into the cliff, standing by a passageway that had been kept clear of the debris blocking the other sections.

Lifting his head at their approach, the Ala Mhigan man stepped forward from the wall he’d been leaning against to greet them. “How much can change in just two and a half summers,” he said in amusement, shaking his head. “Four wet-behind-the-ears girls, naught but the clothes on their backs and the dreams in their hearts, helping out a bunch of dirty refugees when no one else would.”

He paused a moment to carefully look over each of the young women in turn: peppy and optimistic Rurumi, now a crack shot with that oversized magitek gun that was as big as her; proud and graceful Blanchette, clad in the finest Ishgardian silks and metals with the poise of someone who’s magic hit far above their weight class; mysterious and alluring Masya, looking more comfortable than ever with paired blades and resembling a living shadow more than a miqo’te; and boisterous Furious Bee, wearing a dizzying array of furs and metals that showed as much as protected and looking more than capable of performing any number of the inhuman feats of strength that had been attributed to this team.

“Now look at you,” Meffrid said with a rueful grin. “Warriors of Light, slayers of gods and legates both, the very saviors of Eorzea.”

“And still helping out a bunch of dirty refugees,” Bee replied teasingly, contorting her body to avoid an immediate elbow to the side from Masya.

The Ala Mhigan laughed. “Oh, not so dirty now as once was,” he joked back. “I even bathed last week.”

The others shared in the laughter as well, knowing full well he was being facetious. “At least we’re not the only ones willing to help out, this time,” Rurumi pointed out.

“And I can never properly convey just what that means to all of us,” he said solemnly, nodding at the half-lalafell. “At the risk of repeating myself, it’s still hard for me to believe that we’d meet again here, of all places.” He lifted his gaze and stared past the women, looking back through the mists of time. “After leaving the Shroud, I went to Little Ala Mhigo while Gallien was recovering. Gundobald was my former commander and an old friend, and I had a lot on my mind. In the end, I chose to disband the unit, told the men to live out their lives as they saw fit. Some remained in Little Ala Mhigo, some went to Ul’dah for work. And me? Well...”

Coming back to the present, he swept his arms out wide to both sides, his gesture taking in the whole of Rhalgr’s Reach. “Here I am.”

He cleared his throat, his change in demeanor indicating that it was time for business. “Anyway, as I already said, we’re headed east to try and drum up recruits today. Everyone all set to go?”

“Sure are!” Lyse answered enthusiastically, clenching her hands into fists.

“Right then,” Meffrid nodded. “This tunnel will take us most of the way to where we’re going.” He turned to the lance-armed fighter standing guard. “We’re on business for Conrad. Open the way, would you?”

“Aye, sir,” the guard responded. “A moment, please.”

As he set about clearing the barricade, Meffrid turned back toward the others. “There are more villages on the other side, but also more imperials keeping a close eye on things. We’ll need to move cautiously.”

“Luckily,” Rurumi said cheerfully, “we’ve got the best ninja in all of Eorzea with us!”

Masya flushed and looked away as Meffrid laughed lightly. “All the better for us, then.”

\---

 _I remember the peaks of Gyr Abania. Silent watchmen that would stand long after we were gone._  
_We came seeking allies to join us in the fight against the Empire. People who had had enough. People who had suffered every possible indigity.  
_ _Who had been treated like animals, day after day after day..._

_\- From the memoirs of Lyse Hext, ‘Stormblood’_

\---

 _Rustrock Valley, The Peaks, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by the Garlean Empire_

The tunnel from Rhalgr’s Reach led them out into a dilapidated ruin that had likely once been part of a temple annex to Rhalgr’s Reach. As Meffrid had explained during the walk, another glamour was used to hide the entrance from prying eyes; indeed, once the highlander indicated they were past it, Rurumi glanced back to see a sheer cliff face behind them where smooth hewn tunnels had been before.

“...So far as the imperials are concerned,” Meffrid was saying, “This whole area is naught more than a testament to the ‘savage impulses’ of a lesser race. But remember, we’ve no glamours to conceal us anymore. The village is to the east; no chocobos and keep an eye out for patrols as we go.”

As the group set out, Bee looked around at the crumbling edifice that surrounded them. “So...what happened here?”

“You would think this was the valiant last stand of a doomed resistance against the invading forces of the Empire, wouldn’t you?” Lyse asked as she hopped to the lower ground below the edge of the temple complex. Looking up at the others as they followed, she shook her head sadly. “No, we did this to ourselves.”

“During the rebellion against the Mad King just before the invasion,” Meffrid picked up the tale, his eyes carefully sweeping the rocky scrubland for signs of imperial forces, “this temple and Rhalgr’s Reach beyond were a major rallying point for the Fist of Rhalgr and others that opposed the king. While the Reach was never assaulted by the Mad King, this temple was where his forces were stopped.”

“At the cost of what you see before you,” Lyse finished the tale, turning to walk backwards and gesturing back toward the ruins behind them.

A stiff wind blew unexpectedly down the peaks to their north as they left the area of the temple complex, kicking up coarse sand and dry vegetation to bring their visibility down to no more than a few dozen fulms. Meffrid, seeming well-prepared for such a sudden weather shift, lifted the red scarf around his neck to cover his mouth and nose while pulling a set of goggles from his armor to cover his eyes.

“Good,” he said, adjusting the headband strap. “This dust storm will further obscure us from any patrols. Let’s keep up the pace.”

Masya had raised a typical _shinobi_ ’s mask to cover her face from the dust. “I’ll keep watch from the ridge on our left,” she offered, and then vanished like a shadow into the swirling detritus.

“You weren’t joking when you said she was the best at that shadow-sneaking,” Meffrid remarked upon staring in the direction she had gone for several moments. His voice told the astonishment that was obscured from his face.

“Nope,” Rurumi responded, popping the ‘p’ as she walked in Bee’s shadow, using the much taller roegadyn for extra shielding against the dust. “If we hadn’t been traveling with her ourselves all this time, we’d be pretty convinced by now that she _was_ a living shadow.”

“What a nightmare you lot must be for the Empire,” the Ala Mhigan remarked, pausing as they reached a crossroads and peering into the storm.

Several moments passed as Meffrid continued to scrutinize their surroundings, during which a low hawk call echoed across the valley to them. The three Warriors of Light shared a knowing glance; that was Masya’s all-clear signal.

A moment later, Meffrid said, “Nary an imperial in sight. And I gather that call was our distant friend in agreement. That’s a mercy.” He gestured to the left path ahead of them, which passed under a large stone bridge between ridge faces. “Ala Gannha’s just to the northeast, past that bridge. Come, it’s not much further.”

The group continued onward at a steady pace, keeping their chatter to a minimum. While the storm masked their movements and obscured much of the noise they made, there was no point chancing it in enemy territory. Only once were they set upon by wildlife: an enormous locust the size of Rurumi came hopping at them out of the dust, only to be immediately discouraged by a powerful wallop with the flat of Bee’s axe. The creature flew back, bounced off a rock, righted itself shakily, then staggered away from the group.

Just as they came close enough to make out a faint hazy glow in the distance, the winds petered out and the storm abated. The dust settled slowly, allowing them to see the fenced-in hamlet nestled among the rocks, with a waterfall in the distance as a backdrop. In the center of the village—to the surprise of the four foreigners—stood an aetheryte, the source of the glow they had seen on their approach. To their immediate left were several slowly-eroding stacks of cut stone. That, plus the sight of most of the village being cut directly out of the cliff face, indicated that Ala Gannha had once been known for its masonry work.

Meffrid drew to a halt just outside the gate, removing his goggles and lowering his scarf. “Well, here we are,” he said. “This is Ala Gannha.”

Standing beside the taller man, Lyse peered beyond the fence with a look of melancholy on her face. “It feels strange, coming home like this,” she murmured to no one in particular. “I always imagined it would be...”

She trailed off quietly, noticing a moment later that she had drawn the others’ attention. “Oh, sorry!” She shook her head and put on the sort of friendly smile she was known for; all four Warriors of Light, however, could tell it was forced. “That has nothing to do with why we’re here. We need recruits, don’t we?”

Meffrid gave her an understanding smile, letting her brief bout of melancholy go unspoken. “Aye, we do,” he told her. “But as I said back at the Reach, it’s a little more complicated than just asking for volunteers these days. As you know, we’re doing this because of our shortages after the Wall. But it wasn’t just us—folks from all over came. If rumors are to be believed, even some youths from here as well. That’s why we’ve come here. If it’s true, there may well be others sympathetic to the cause as well.”

Bee crossed her arms, her brow furrowed. “That...isn’t exactly the strongest logic I’ve heard.”

“She’s right,” Blanchette agreed. “As much as saying that physically pained me—”

“Hey!”

“—If these people lost loved ones, they may not be friendly to further recruitment drives.”

The Ala Mhigan sighed and nodded to the two women. “You’re both right, of course. They are likely to be suspicious of outsiders claiming allegiance to the Resistance—and rightfully so.”

Lyse looked between the three. “But...it _can_ be done, right?”

“It depends,” Masya answered.

When the miqo’te did not appear to be forthcoming with an explanation, Rurumi supplied, “We’ll have to see what the attitude of the people are like. Even if they’re resistant—” At this, Bee gave an approving grin to the group leader, “—there are still ways we can bring them around to our viewpoint.”

Lyse did not appear assured. “But how can we convince them to join? I mean, I know it won’t be as simple as giving a speech in the village square...”

“Not if you don’t want the place burned to the ground, no,” Meffrid shook his head with a bemused chuckle. “You may as well piss in the viceroy’s eye.”

“There’s an idea,” Bee grinned.

“We’ll need to be fairly circumspect,” the Resistance leader continued, looking among the five women. “You never know when an imperial spy is listening. We’ll speak with the elder first. I know for a fact he can be trusted. After we hear what he has to say, we’ll decide what to do.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Lyse said happily. “I just hope there are still some brave men and women here willing to fight.”

“Amen to that,” Meffrid nodded. “Now, the village elder is Raganfrid. He’s over by the shore...”

Trailing off a moment, Meffrid took in the others, and came to the realization that they were a fairly intimidating bunch. “My apologies, ladies, but would you mind hanging back a bit while Lyse and I talk to him? No need to come on too strong, as it were.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Rurumi answered, beaming up at the highlander. “We need to attune to that aetheryte anyway, so we’ll wait there for you.”

The group entered the village proper, Meffrid and Lyse heading directly across to the elder’s tent. The Warriors of Light lagged behind, Bee closing the gate behind them, and then meandered toward the glowing shard of crystal. As they had done dozens of times before, they lifted a hand toward its warm surface.

\---

Yang idly munched a few chips as she watched the cutscene meeting with the village elder. While of course her character was the one there in the story-based scene, she and the others in ‘Team RWBY’ weren’t privy to the conversation for the purposes of their own role-playing. By now, playing ‘fast and loose with the canon,’ as Nora liked to call it, was something they were familiar with. None of them were bothered with their free company’s story-master when she made these sorts of calls anymore; they all agreed she was a fantastic story-teller.

She watched as Meffrid tried to convince the elder that the Resistance’s call for able bodies would be different from the time that Ilberd—or ‘Ill-bred’ as she liked to call him—had come, only to be refuted with the sharp and succinct, _“This time? This time!? Cold comfort to the dead and the ones they left behind! How much more must we give before you’ve had your fill?”_

“Yep, called it,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re not getting any recruits from this place.”

“ _It’s not like we doubted you,”_ Blake remarked. _“Any people who have been as oppressed for as long as these folks have, and had their one hope turn out to have been a lie...”_

“ _I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re about to be run out of here with pikes,”_ Weiss added.

“ _I’m not sure they even_ have _any pikes,”_ Blake deadpanned.

“ _You know what I mean.”_

“ _Ooh, Lyse is playing the ‘this is my home too’ card,”_ Ruby said in amusement. Before Yang could say anything, however, her little sister snarked, _“Bold move, Cotton, let’s see how it pays off.”_

The blonde laughed. “Ruby, I love you.”

“ _Love you too, Yang,”_ Ruby giggled.

There was briefly silence over their team channel as the four of them watched the scene play out. Finally, as it ended, Yang said, “Well...that was a thing.”

“ _I mean...”_ Blake took a breath. _“At least we’re not getting thrown out.”_

“ _We’re not getting any recruits, either,”_ Weiss pointed out, echoing Yang’s earlier sentiment.

Yang scoffed. “Oh, Weiss, how little you know about these quests.” She cracked her knuckles, then flexed her fingers before returning her hands to her mouse and keyboard. “Alright, ladies! Time for Team RWBY to play the hearts and minds game!”

“ _We are_ so _doomed.”_

\---

Leaning against one of the decorative posts surrounding the aetheryte, Bee watched Lyse storm away from the elder’s tent, followed shortly by Meffrid. “That was tense...” the roegadyn warrior commented.

“We should probably see how that went,” Rurumi suggested, already heading on an intercept path with the two highlanders.

The Warriors of Light strode off after their allies, following them back toward the village gate. Most of the way there, Meffrid suddenly turned toward the south, leading them past a tall rock with a ramp cut into it. Once they’d all gathered, the Ala Mhigan let out his breath in an explosive sigh. “That...could’ve been handled better, but what’s done is done.”

“That poorly?” Masya asked.

Meffrid shrugged. “He wasn’t willing to hear us on seeking recruits, very near expelled us from the village outright.” He tipped his head toward Lyse. “But after Lyse told him who she was, he’s granted us permission to stay. I had hoped Raganfrid might help us to recruit some of his people, but that clearly isn’t going to happen. If we’re to convince any of them to join, we’ll first need to regain their trust.”

At the looks of agreement from the others, he continued, “It’s risky, and not at all subtle, but I think we’ll have to approach the villagers directly. See what problems they’ve got, and if we can do anything to help.”

“Hearts and minds, eh?” Bee asked ruefully.

“Aye, that’s the high and low of it,” Meffrid nodded.

“Sounds good to me,” Lyse agreed. “Shall we split up and ask around?”

“Let’s.” Meffrid gestured back toward the village. “After you, my lady.”

As the two highlanders departed, Rurumi looked at her three comrades. “So...Blanchette and I?” she queried.

“And Bee and I,” Masya answered. “So, shall we start asking around?”

“Let’s get to it,” Bee agreed, walking back into the village proper.

Rurumi smiled up at Blanchette and headed in the other direction, back toward the gate they’d come through. No sooner had they walked around the side of one of the tents staked near them, they saw a woman seated on a bench just outside the tent flap, a look of pain contorting her face as she gingerly massaged her leg.

Sharing a look with the elezen, Rurumi turned toward the woman, but before she could take even a single step, the highlander’s voice barked out harshly, “You’d best keep your distance, if you know what’s good for you. Say your piece and move on.”

The sheer venom in the woman’s tone took the half-lalafell by surprise, but Blanchette was not so easily cowed. Mentally biting her tongue to withhold a scathing remark, she explained, “We’re looking for people in need of aid. We would like to help, if we can.”

The highlander scoffed. “Looking for folks down on their luck? Congratulations, you’ve found one.” She gestured down at her leg, which upon closer inspection was swollen and slightly discolored; Blanchette’s chirurgeon training told her immediately it was sign of a leg that had once been broken and not healed properly. “As you can see, my leg ain’t what it used to be. Some days I can hardly walk for the pain. Mornings are the worst, especially after cold nights. Hard labor’s right out—too much pain and trouble for others.”

Kneeling down, Blanchette gently and clinically inspected the woman’s leg. “I see,” she said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to fix this. The injury is too old to be properly reset, and it is against my expert medical opinion to go about breaking limbs willfully in a half-arsed attempt to correct poor prior treatment.”

Rurumi managed, with great difficulty, to suppress a giggle at Blanchette’s casual vulgarity in the midst of her clinical assessment. Clearly, Bee was having more of an influence on the Ishgardian woman than she was aware of.

“You’re telling me nothing I’ve not already heard,” the woman scowled, then let out a sigh. “There’s a tea that helps the pain, though. It requires chapuli horns and hornbill claws for the blend...”

“Oh!” Rurumi perked up suddenly, looking back in the direction of Rhalgr’s Reach. “Those birds by the temple were probably hornbills!”

The woman nodded. “Aye, and chapuli are the overgrown crickets on the approach to the village.”

Blanchette made a face. “Oh. Those things.”

“No worries,” Rurumi grinned, patting Blanchette on the lower back—the highest she could reach. “Now that we know what we’re after, we can go off and get some, no problem.”

“Eh?” The woman leaned back in her seat, surprise writ all over her face. “You’ll go and get some for me, just like that? You needn’t trouble yourself so...”

Blanchette smiled. “Think nothing of it. We _are_ heroes, after all.”

Leaving the woman shaking her head in disbelief at their kindness, Rurumi and Blanchette headed out of the village in search of the critters they would need to harvest to provide the poor woman her painkilling tea. Just a few paces beyond the gate, Rurumi pointed to a small rocky crevice to the right of the path, in the shadow of the bridge. “There’s one!” she called out.

Blanchette squinted, and could just _barely_ make out a patch of slightly deeper green amongst the scrub growth in the crevice. She wouldn’t have seen it at all if it hadn’t moved. “Your eyes, I swear...” the elezen murmured.

Rurumi chuckled and drew her firearm, fitting the magnetized Gauss shroud to the front of the barrel. “Comes from being a sharpshooter, I guess,” she offered.

Smiling faintly, Blanchette drew her left hand from behind her back, holding it aloft at her side. Her fingers were held in a specific manner, and a small white glyph spun lazily around her wrist. “I meant nothing by it, you dolt. It’s all the more beneficial to us that you’ve such a keen gaze.”

The shorter woman smiled widely, bringing her weapon up and staring down the attached scope. Knowing that they needed the creature’s horn, she purposely avoided sighting its head, instead focusing her gaze on its center mass. A faint hum built in the barrel of her weapon for a few moments. Blanchette merely watched as the hum built to a brief crescendo, then launched a tiny aetheric projectile at several times the speed of sound into the brush.

Both women heard the sound of the chapuli’s carapace shatter under the impact of the shot, and then a few moments later, the oversized insect came scrabbling out of the brush, trailing green ichor and chittering angrily. It turned its sensory organs up the path, sighting the two women waiting for it, and began to hop as best it could toward them with a large hole blasted into its side.

It came on at Rurumi like a beast possessed, but as it was leaping to strike at her, Blanchette gestured slightly, and a large, spinning white snowflake flashed into existence in the creature’s path, bouncing it back and away from the smaller woman. Looking upon the chapuli with distaste, she twisted her fingers, and several sharpened ice shards shot out of the snowflake at incredible speed. One impaled it just ahead of where Rurumi’s shot had borne through it, and another sheared off its last two limbs.

Crippled and gravely injured as it now was, the chapuli collapsed to the dusty ground, its animal instinct compelling it to try and drag itself away from the threat the two women presented. It would get no such opportunity. Taking a knee, Rurumi carefully sighted, held a steady breath, and then fired another hypersonic shot directly through the thorax of the insect. The round spalled through both sides of its carapace, and the creature let out a sound resembling a hissing gasp as air escaped its body, before slumping over.

“Nice shooting,” Blanchette praised, dismissing the swirling aetheric glyph around her wrist as she moved down the hill to inspect their kill.

“Nice cover, partner,” Rurumi returned, following after the taller woman.

Stopping a pace away from the ruined insect, the elezen nodded her satisfaction. “Good, we didn’t damage the horn. This should be more than enough to provide for that poor woman’s remedy.”

“Just leave it to me.”

With a grin, Rurumi shifted a lever on the side of her weapon. The lower half of the barrel’s front split into two, spinning and realigning itself to form a down-and-backward-curved blade of forged adamantite. Spinning her transformed weapon with a flourish, the half-lalafell severed the chapuli’s horn neatly and efficiently at its base with a single rapid swipe.

Blanchette caught the horn before it could tip into the dust, allowing Rurumi a moment to turn her weapon back into its normal configuration before tossing the severed appendage toward her. “Well done,” the elezen said. “Hopefully, the hornbills will prove equally simple.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, I think,” Rurumi answered as they started on the path back toward the temple. “We’ve fought plenty of birds before, and we’re the best partners!”

“You’ve got that right,” Blanchette said with a warm smile.

A sly grin forming on her face, Rurumi drawled out, “Ohhhh...? Which part?”

Rolling her eyes, and yet still not losing her smile, the white-haired woman quipped, “The part about having fought birds before, of course. Which part did you _think_ I meant?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rurumi said slowly, casting her gaze between her partner and their surroundings, looking out both for any hungry critters that may want to make a meal of them, or any stray imperial patrols. “Maybe the part about us being super best together?”

“No, definitely not that,” Blanchette deadpanned, then broke down into a light fit of laughter, joined soon by Rurumi’s full-bodied giggles.

Before long, the temple annex loomed before them once again. The two of them stopped, taking in the full sight of the destruction that had been wrought there decades in the past. Though much of the beautiful stonework had been eroded away by the frequent sandstorms, enough still remained to paint the pair an avid picture of what the temple must have been like in its heyday.

“Maybe...” Rurumi began quietly. “Maybe after we’ve won, it can be rebuilt...?”

Blanchette nodded her head solemnly. “I’ve no doubt the masons of Dzemael would love to get their hands on proper Ala Mhigan stonework,” she whispered. Shaking herself out of the momentary melancholy that had befallen them, she looked down at her partner. “But let us not put the wagon before the chocobo. We’ve tasks here beyond sightseeing.”

“Right!” Rurumi swiftly pulled herself out of the funk as well, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she looked over the grounds. Almost immediately, she spotted a hornbill resting on a fallen pillar along the right side of the path. “Over there!”

Blanchette spotted it as well, once more lifting her left hand with a glyph spinning slowly around her wrist. “What’s the plan?”

The smaller woman thought for a moment, then shifted her firearm into its melee configuration. “White Rose?”

“Very well.” Bringing her other hand out, she pointed it idly toward the air behind Rurumi and held her left hand across her chest, twisting her fingers to alter the magic she was generating.

A black snowflake formed in the air at an angle behind Rurumi. The machinist hopped onto the glyph and crouched down, holding her weapon in both hands behind her with the edge of the blade facing forward. Blanchette slowly spun her right hand in a vertical circle, the glyph spinning to match her pace, and began to pick up speed.

“Can you make the shot?” Rurumi teased, tensing in preparation.

A smug smirk tugged itself across Blanchette’s features. “Can I?”

The elezen woman snapped the fingers of her left hand, and the glyph shattered, launching Rurumi through the sky at an incredible speed. In the near distance, the hornbill noticed the incoming blur of red and black, squawking in alarm as it began to take to the sky.

The speeding half-lalafell struck before it could escape, the edge of her firearm’s scythe-like blade de-feeted the avian creature within the span of an eyeblink. Rurumi contorted her body in midair, at the same time reverting her weapon to firearm mode. Showing mercy on the crippled hornbill, she appeared to gracefully hover in midair for several moments as she lined up her shot, then put a finishing round through the bird’s head.

Landing smoothly in a three-point stance, Rurumi put away her weapon and picked up the severed claws of the hornbill, sauntering back toward Blanchette. “And _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” she cheered.

“Exceptional precision,” the white-haired elezen agreed, inspecting the cuts that her partner had inflicted. “As to be expected with my guidance.”

Rurumi giggled at Blanchette’s joking boast. “Well, let’s get back, shall we?”

\---

By the time the red-and-white pair had returned to Ala Gannha, they found that their opposite numbers had also returned from the errand they had found, and were talking with a shirtless roegadyn near the tent that the injured woman sat before. Deciding to put off asking them about what they were doing until later, they returned to the tent of the injured woman.

She looked up at their approach. “What brings the two of you back here?”

With a grin, Rurumi deposited their spoils on the bench beside the woman. “Just here to make a special delivery.”

The woman looked down at the prizes in complete shock, lifting her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I never meant to...” She shook her head, then looked back toward the two Warriors of Light. “I mean, in times like these, you never think people will actually...” Pausing, she took a deep breath to recollect herself, then explained, “This country’s hard on people, but it’s more than just that. The imperials, they...they’ve made it known I’m not to be helped. A dead man’s good for one lesson, you know, whereas a live one...”

Rurumi and Blanchette exchanged looks of confusion; the elezen’s brow furrowed, the half-lalafell offering a helpless shrug.

“You two are with the Resistance, right?” the woman asked, cutting through their thoughts.

“The Eorzean Alliance,” Blanchette corrected, “but for all intents and purposes, yes.”

The woman nodded. “I suppose there’s no reason you shouldn’t know, then. This was sometime in the last year. My father, gods rest his soul, was deathly sick at the time, and so I’d gone out into the forest, spear in hand, to gather herbs. And then I had the good fortune to run into an imperial patrol.”

Another look passed between lalafell and elezen, this one of concern.

“My weapon marked me as a rebel, or so they said,” the woman continued. “Not that it’d’ve made a difference if I’d fought back. I knew what the lot of them were about the moment that centurion laid eyes on me...”

Rurumi’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and she covered her mouth with her hands to hold back a gasp of horror. Beside her, Blanchette’s crystal blue eyes had narrowed in a fury, her hands clenching into such tight fists that the leather of her ringbands creaked in protest.

The woman looked at their reactions, and smiled in appreciation for their sympathy. “Didn’t matter in the end, of course. Some people just like to hurt others. And by the time I limped back to the hut, it was too late for my father. Too late for me too, aye, and many others, I imagine. Help them too if you like—they’ll be grateful and say thank you. But beyond that, I wouldn’t hope for much.”

Nodding to Blanchette, who turned and walked toward where Bee and Masya were, Rurumi looked back at the woman. “Thank you for the information,” she said.

For a moment, the woman just looked at her incredulously. Then she let out a short, bitter laugh. “Thank _me_? The two of you were the ones that went out of your way on a vermin hunt just to give me a moment of succor. And me with nothing to give you in return.”

“Your life is a little better,” Rurumi said earnestly, smiling warmly. “That’s reward enough for us.”

The woman shook her head ruefully. “Little miss, if you figure out how to weaponize that optimism, you’ll never need fear the imperials again. You and your friend take care of yourselves out there. Don’t worry yourselves about me.”

“You take care, as well,” Rurumi replied, still smiling. She reached forward to pat the woman on her good knee, then turned and followed in the direction that her white-haired comrade had gone.

Meeting up with the other three by the aetheryte, she found Bee to be practically beside herself with amusement, Blanchette to be slowly massaging her forehead against an oncoming migraine, and Masya to be looking entertained by the whole affair. So really, par for the course.

“Uh oh, Blanchette looks like she’s about to have a meltdown again,” Rurumi said as she joined them, then fixed the tall blonde with an even stare. “What did you guys do?”

Purposefully choosing to interpret that question to refer to the errand they were on, Bee proudly announced, “Oh, nothing too big. We just hauled explosive components bound for the Resistance.”

“What.”

Masya tipped her head inconspicuously toward the roegadyn they had been seen talking to. “His brother masquerades as a simple quarryman and skims saltpeter from the shipments to sell to the local sutlers that deal with the Resistance,” she explained. “It’s their way of fighting back; they can’t openly rebel because their father was conscripted, and would be put to death if it was known they were fighting the Empire.”

The miqo’te sighed, slowly shaking her head. “Theirs does not seem to be a singular instance.”

Bee nodded glumly in concurrence with her partner’s statement, then asked, “You two have any better luck?”

“Unfortunately not,” Blanchette answered. “The woman we helped had been _accosted_ by an imperial patrol and permanently crippled.” Were it under other circumstances, the elezen might have been amused at how quickly her comrades’ faces darkened at her words. “Hers, too, doesn’t sound like an isolated incident. The people here despise the Empire, but are incapable of acting against them for one reason or another.”

“That’s what we’ve concluded as well,” Masya agreed. “We should see how Meffrid and Lyse have gotten on.”

Nodding in agreement, Rurumi looked around, finding the Resistance leader standing on the other side of the aetheryte from them, talking to another villager in front of a tent. The quartet crossed the dusty ground, the sound of their approach—mostly Bee’s—drawing Meffrid’s attention.

“Ah, there you ladies are,” he said as they drew near. “I’ve been working on this food shortage the village has been dealing with. Apparently, the imperials have been swooping into villages unannounced as of late and seizing supplies in order to prevent the people from stockpiling, in case they might be in league with the Resistance. It isn’t much, but I’ve taught them a few tricks to better hide what they’ve got left.”

He looked around, and noticed they were one fiery-tempered blonde short of their quota. “How’s Lyse getting on, by the way? You’d think people would be more inclined to trust a local girl—assuming they remember her, of course...”

Bee shrugged. “Dunno, we haven’t seen—”

“—And where were _you_ these past twenty years!?” an angry voice shouted from the far side of the tent they were all gathered at.

“Thaaaaaaaat’s probably her,” Bee amended, rolling her shoulders and stepping forward to go intervene. “Come on, ladies.”

“Where were _you_ when we were being ground under the Black Wolf’s boot!?” the angry voice continued. “On the other side of his bastard wall, living the high life, I’ll wager!”

Clearing the side of the tent, the four ladies saw Lyse being confronted by a shaggy-haired man who seemed to be twice her size, his face red and spittle flecking from his mouth in his fury. The red-clad Scion, in contrast, had shrunk back in what could have easily been mistaken as fear—despite all four onlookers knowing that she could swat her accuser down with a breath.

“That’s not fair!” Lyse pleaded, trying to explain her side of things.

The bright colors of the Warriors of Light caught her accuser’s attention, and the man turned his sneer upon them. “Ho, and who are these lot, more of your ‘freedom-loving friends,’ deigning to help us poor unfortunate souls?”

Nobody needed to look at Bee’s face to know that her eyes had gone red, but as she opened her mouth, Masya grabbed her hand and squeezed tightly, that moment of pause giving Rurumi the opportunity to step forward and interpose herself. But the man didn’t give them an opportunity to get in a word to their defense, so whipped up in a fury he was.

“Trying to whip us into a frenzy so we’ll go and storm a castrum with our pickaxes and shovels!?” he all but screamed, clenching his fists and trembling under the pressure of a fury he knew he could not take out on the ones standing before him. “Leave! All of you! Before you bring a gods-damned cohort down on us all!”

He leveled his gaze once more on Lyse, and if a glare were capable of projecting energy, the poor Ala Mhigan expatriate would have been immolated where she stood. “And _you—_ don’t you _dare_ speak like you’re one of us. You can’t even begin to understand what we’ve been through. You weren’t here, Lyse!” he screamed, spitting her name as if it were poison. “ _You weren’t here!_ This is _my_ home,” he said, slamming his palms to his chest, “and I love it with all my heart. And if you truly have any love for it, too, you’ll keep us out of your doomed rebellion.”

His peace said, the cynical youth stormed away from the group. Bee stared at his retreating backside for several moments, the red slowly bleeding out of her eyes to be replaced with their normal lilac color. Letting out a sharp, slow breath, she looked back toward Lyse. The monk had not moved in the intervening time, her head lowered and her shoulders hunched.

“Hey...” the roegadyn said softly, reaching a hand out toward her fellow blonde.

Without warning, Lyse took off like a lightning bolt, sprinting toward the western gate of the village. Rurumi let out a noise of surprise as Bee cursed; Lyse was _fast_.

Blanchette swore as well. “Come on!” she cried, though it need not have been said, the four of them already taking off in pursuit of their wayward comrade.

Ahead of them, Lyse vaulted the gate entirely, angling toward the clump of trees just beyond the stone storage outside the gate. Either she was unaware of the Warriors of Light hot on her heels, or otherwise didn’t care, interposing one of the trees between herself and the village and slamming her back into it before sliding down to the ground.

The others leaped over the gate as well, Masya even throwing in a front flip for good measure, and dropped to a walking pace as they neared Lyse, not wishing to spook her. Even before they reached her, they could see her whole body trembling, and each had a fairly good idea as to why.

Sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, Lyse rocked slowly back and forth, one hand held across her eyes in an effort to obscure the tears pouring down her face, and the other pressed to her mouth to muffle her sobs. Slowly, the four of them sat down in a half-circle around their friend and comrade, silently offering her their supporting presence. The five sat in silence for a short time, refusing to pressure Lyse in any way.

Finally, she lowered her hands to her lap, staring at the ground as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “...He’s _right_ ,” she whispered, the bleakness in her tone hurting the four ladies’ hearts. “No matter what I say...no matter what I _do_ , it doesn’t change the fact that I left them...”

Blanchette reached into the highlander’s lap, seeking one of her hands and squeezing it gently in both of hers. “Lyse, you were a _child_ ,” the elezen said softly. “You didn’t have a choice, and even if you had, you wouldn’t be in a position to help them now if you had stayed.”

Lyse shook her head, half-heartedly attempting to extract her hand from Blanchette’s, but the taller woman wouldn’t have it. “Twenty years they’ve suffered, and what have I been doing all that time?” She sniffed, wiping the back of her free hand across her nose. “Goofing off across the Wall, doing _nothing_ while my people suffered.”

Leaning forward, Rurumi tipped Lyse’s chin up so that the Ala Mhigan woman would look up at them. She gave Lyse a warm smile and said, “You’ve been _saving_ people on the other side of that wall. How many Garlean invasions, how many Ascian plots, how many primal threats have you helped stop?”

Squeezing her red, watery eyes shut, Lyse shook her head once, sharply. “You guys did everything,” she said bitterly, but they knew it was directed at herself, at her perceived powerlessness. “All I could ever do was cheer you on from the sides.”

“It’s true that we have ever been the ones into the fire,” Masya stated. “But that is through no failing of your own. It was we who were randomly selected to receive the Mothercrystal’s blessings. And even still, we could never have done it without you and everyone else.”

Bee nodded in agreement. “We couldn’t have gone out and fought to the fullest if it hadn’t been for the support you and the rest of the Scions gave us,” she said. “Besides, I remember you saved _our_ asses a couple times. The ‘Bloody Banquet’, yeah?” She leaned forward and playfully nudged Lyse’s leg. “Come on, you whipped those Brass Blades’ asses.”

Lyse sniffled, but a brief, faint smile crossed her lips regardless. “I sure did...”

Blanchette squeezed the hand that she had still not relinquished. “You most certainly did. And let us not forget the time you fought a _tribunus_ to a standstill. The point is, Lyse, that you have _not_ done nothing all this time.”

“Most important of all,” Masya pointed out, “when the rest of us Scions _and_ the Alliance were hemming and hawing about what to do with the trap that Ilberd baited us into, who was the most outspoken and passionate about liberating Ala Mhigo?”

Rurumi reached out and poked Lyse on the tip of her nose. “That was you.”

“And because of you,” Bee added, “we’re all here, now. Us, the other Scions, _hundreds_ of soldiers and adventurers. We’ve come to kick the Empire back across the mountains, because _you_ have brought us here.”

Lyse smiled softly, her flagging spirits lifted and her heart buoyed by the words of the Warriors of Light. If these four women, who along with the others were very accurately considered to be the saviors of Eorzea, thought so highly of her, then she had to be doing something right. She squeezed Blanchette’s hand in return, blossoming a relieved smile on the elezen woman’s face.

“You guys...” she said softly, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “I love you all. I want you to know that.”

“We love you, too, Lyse,” Rurumi replied. “That’s why we’re here for you.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Bee suddenly said boisterously, shoving herself up to her feet. “Bring it in, girls.”

“Huh?” “Shite—” “Bee, no!” “Help!”

A brief scuffle later, Bee had pulled Lyse into a rib-cracking hug, which was joined—willingly, despite their verbal protests—by Rurumi, Blanchette, and Masya, surrounding the Ala Mhigan woman in a group hug of warmth and care. Lyse, being Lyse, wasn’t as harmed by one of Bee’s death hugs, and sought to get her arms around all four of them.

“You good now?” Bee asked.

Lyse nodded against the taller woman’s chest. “Yeah. I just... Sometimes I just kind of...”

“Say no more,” Bee shushed her. “It’s okay. You are wonderful. And beautiful.”

“And you are going to change the world someday,” Rurumi added. “Soon, even!”

“Don’t ever forget how important you are,” Masya said into the curtain of Lyse’s blonde hair.

“And how loved you are,” Blanchette said, adding finality to her statement by tightening her hold on the others.

After a few more moments of hugging it out, allowing Lyse to get herself fully back under control, the four Warriors of Light stepped back to give her some space. The highlander took several deep breaths, then stretched her arms high above her head. “Thanks,” she said warmly. “You guys have no idea how much I needed that.”

Bee smirked. “You bet you did. My hugs are certified weapons-grade.”

Rurumi nodded sagely. “It’s true.”

Lyse laughed. “I believe it! Well...Meffrid is probably wondering where we got off too. Let’s go find him.”

The Scions started back toward the village, but before they had reached the gate, Masya spoke up, “Bee.”

“Masya,” the roegadyn answered in the same tone.

“You are _not_ allowed to find that guy and punt him,” the miqo’te warned sternly.

“Shite.”

This brought another round of much-needed laughter, their mirth further elevating their spirits as they made their way back to the same ramp-adorned rock as before that they could see their ally waiting at. As they drew near, he looked them over, catching sight of the redness of Lyse’s eyes, but he chose to say nothing about that.

“So it looks like the elder’s not the only one unwilling to hear us out,” he told them, succinctly summarizing the experiences they all shared. “Can’t blame them, given what happened at the Wall.”

“I thought I might be able to appeal to them as a fellow...I don’t know what,” Lyse said, the exhaustion evident in her voice. To the girls’ surprise, it was Meffrid who reached out a silent hand of support to her shoulder. “It just made them angrier. I haven’t lived through it like they have.”

“I can’t claim to know the struggle like they do either, Lyse,” Meffrid said softly, turning fully to face her. “I ran just the same, but if I hadn’t, I’d’ve never met Rurumi, Blanchette, Masya, and Bee, and we might not be here today, in a position to make a difference.”

Standing behind Meffrid, out of his line of sight, Bee wildly pantomimed in his direction in full agreement of his words. Lyse just barely managed to suppress her laughter at the roegadyn warrior’s antics, instead quirking a very faint smile as she glanced briefly toward her.

“So I don’t regret my...” Meffrid trailed off, having caught a flicker of Bee’s movements out of the corner of his eye. When he looked back, she was merely standing innocently with her arms behind her back, regarding him curiously. He shrugged it off, turned back to Lyse, and continued, “choices. Nor will I apologize for them. There’s more than one way to fight.”

Lyse felt her heart swell at the further affirmation that she had nothing to be ashamed of, and was about to respond when a woman’s plaintive cry echoed across the village, “Help! Someone, anyone—we need help!”

Hands were already on weapons amongst the Warriors of Light, the six freedom fighters exchanging troubled looks. “I don’t like the sound of that one bit,” Meffrid said, echoing all their sentiments. “Let’s go have a look.”

Sprinting into the village, Rurumi directed them toward a crowd gathered around the tent of the woman they’d provided the alchemical supplies for. The group got there in time to find a villager on her knees, taking great gasping breaths of air; it was clear she had sprinted for some distance to find help.

“Wercrata, he...” she wheezed, trying to explain to her fellow Ala Mhigans. “...the tributum and...and the bloody ratmen, they... damn it all!”

Meffrid pushed through the crowd, taking a knee in front of the woman. Blanchette, ever the medical professional, knelt on her other side, checking her over for any injuries besides exertion. “Calm down,” he implored her. “Take a deep breath, and tell us what happened.”

Sufficiently calmed by the Resistance leader’s even tone, the woman sucked in a deep breath and, with Blanchette’s assistance, rose to her feet. “It was all business as usual,” she said. “The tributum’s due soon, and we were taking it to the imperials when the Qiqirn attacked! They took my brother, and our money!”

“Where did they take him?” Lyse asked immediately. A good scrap with some thieves sounded like just the thing to get her head fully back in the game.

“Ruins to the south of here,” the villager answered. “It was just an old temple before they came and...” She seemed to realize she was rambling and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Listen, Wercrata’s the only family I’ve got left! If I lose him, I—”

“The Ziggurat?” gasped one of the other villagers. It wasn’t until they heard his voice that the Scions realized he was the one who had torn into Lyse earlier. “If the ratmen took him there, he’s as good as dead!”

Bee slowly turned her head and fixed the side of his head with a hateful glare. Standing beside her, Masya felt her animosity—and the rising air temperature that meant Bee was moments away from _literally_ lighting off—and shot the taller woman a warning glare. The warrior relented, grinding her teeth and turning her attention back to the more important problem at hand.

Lyse had ignored her earlier tormentor entirely, her attention fully focused on the fate of the villager. “We have to go help,” she said, turning to the others. “If there’s even a chance her brother is still alive, we have to try!”

“Don’t gotta tell us twice,” Bee grinned, already having drawn her axe and rested the chain-adorned weapon on her shoulder. “Nobody’s gonna die on our watch if we can help it.”

With nothing else needing to be said, the Scions and Meffrid headed off toward the south, following the road out of the village toward the ‘Ziggurat’. None of them noticed, behind them in the village, the young man who had spoken so harshly to Lyse earlier lower his head in shame...

\---

A few minutes out of the village, Meffrid glanced back over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being followed, then said what was bothering him from the moment the troubled woman had mentioned what she and her brother were doing. “Even if it’s too late for the missing man, we’ve got to recover the tributum. The Garleans won’t suffer excuses if they’re late.”

“I shudder to think what reprisals the village might suffer,” Blanchette agreed.

“Aye, we must needs avoid that at all costs,” Meffrid said. “So. As you’ve no doubt gathered, our objective is an old temple called the Ziggurat to the south. It looks a bit like two pyramids stacked one on top of the other; trust me, you can’t miss it. A host of Qiqirn bandits have taken it over, so I’ve no doubt we’re in for a fight.”

“We’ve dealt with Qiqirn before,” Rurumi said offhand.

“Yeah, they’re kind of like... scrub-tier adventurer problems,” Bee added. “I mean, they don’t normally cause problems to begin with.”

“Well, things are a bit.... _different_ under Garlean occupation,” Meffrid replied. “Perhaps it’s best you see for yourself. We’ll be there soon.”

Within a few minutes, the group sighted a decidedly-unnatural rock formation rising into the sky, looking like an inverted pyramid. As they drew closer, they could see it narrowed down to a point, then widened out again in a mirrored version at its base.

Upon seeing this, Bee made a noise of understanding. “Ohhh, so _that’s_ what you meant by a pyramid on top of a pyramid,” she said. “I thought you meant...well, nevermind.”

By now, they could see the banners and structures built around the area that they recognized as being Qiqirn in origin. They paused behind a rocky outcropping just out of sight, considering their options.

“There’s like to be dozens loitering around the place, mayhaps even hundreds,” Meffrid remarked. “I don’t much relish the thought of facing _that_ many of the little ankle-biters at once.”

Masya drew her blades with a practiced flourish, purposely dragging the backs of the weapons across strategically-placed steel strips in their scabbards to create the smooth hiss of drawn weapons. “Allow me to scout the area,” she offered. “I’ll find us a safe path, and try to locate our man as well.”

The Ala Mhigan man briefly looked about the Scions, but when none of their expressions indicated anything other than supreme confidence in the miqo’te’s abilities, nodded his assent. “Very well. I leave it in your hands.”

Nodding her head, Masya stepped back into the lengthening shadow of a pillar and vanished. The other three Warriors of Light went into a relaxed standby posture; Rurumi sat cross-legged on the ground and fiddled with the settings of her weapon, Bee leaned against the rocky outcrop and fished inside her armor for a handful of trail rations, and Blanchette kept a casual eye on their surroundings. Following their example, Meffrid kept watch in the opposite direction as the elezen.

After several minutes, the scrape of rock drew their attention upward, to find Masya crouched on the rocks above them. “I’ve located our man at the top of the structure,” she said. “And we have...slightly less opposition than before. Follow me.”

She hopped down to the other side of the rock, and the others came around the corner to come upon a scene of carnage. Five Qiqirn lay scattered across the ground around the main archway that led into the camp, the only motion coming from them the wind whipping at the end of their clothing. Blanchette paused to look down at one as she passed, and recoiled almost immediately. Unlike the Qiqirn they were accustomed to dealing with—brown-skinned, largely-harmless creatures that liked to deal and barter—these ones had black, leathery skin and equally-dark clothing to match. Several that had died with their eyes open revealed that they had sinister, red eyes that doubtless glowed on the living ones.

Beside her, Rurumi frowned and clutched her weapon tighter. “I don’t like it...” she murmured, expressing her unease with this regional version of Qiqirn.

“Aye, they’re a ferocious lot,” Meffrid whispered as he followed in their wake. “They’ve become far more vicious under Garlean oppression, and with the food shortages, they’ve become rather _fond_ of meat of a quality that we, in particular, would find less than agreeable.”

Blanchette’s lip curled in distaste, Rurumi shuddered, but ahead of them, Masya was unmoved and Bee merely scoffed in derision.

Past the arch, Masya led them to a set of stone steps that seemed to run to the very top of the structure. The miqo’te led the ascent at what Meffrid considered to be a rather swift pace, and yet still created not a sound that might draw the attention of any of the other beastfolk. Only once did she hesitate: halfway up the steps, she stopped and flattened herself against the near wall. Behind her, Bee immediately lifted her left hand in a closed fist; Meffrid recognized one of the Immortal Flames’ many combat hand signals.

With one blade in hand, Masya stalked forward once the others had stopped, disappearing around the corner of the landing above them. A few moments passed, during which the Ala Mhigan _thought_ he saw a flicker of movement pass from one side of the landing to the other, but couldn’t be entirely sure.

Masya soon appeared at the top of the landing, her blades sheathed and acting as though she owned the structure. “We’re clear,” she said quietly, her words whispers on the wind.

The group advanced forward again, and Meffrid looked to the right as he reached the landing to see a dead Qiqirn stacked against the stone railing. Its chest was covered in blood that seemed to originate from a stab wound in its armpit. He felt a cold chill run up his spine; such a precision strike would cause almost-immediate death from the severing of several major blood vessels. Masya clearly knew her stock in trade extremely well.

No other threats presented themselves as the group reached the top of the stairs, where they silently crept up to the structure’s roof and clustered on the far side of the stone railing. Masya gestured ahead to four carved poles with a cloth net of some kind draped across it. Underneath that netting, they could see three more Qiqirn surrounding a clearly-terrified Ala Mhigan man and his pack chocobo.

Meffrid drew his blade as silently as possible. “What’s our move?”

Rurumi nodded to the far corner of the rooftop, where several more Qiqirn were clustered together some distance from the man they’d come to rescue. “We’ll take the three in the middle,” she said, drawing her weapon and crouch-walking toward the other side of the stairs. “Be ready to deal with them, or any others, if they interfere.”

Blanchette raised both her hands, her signature snowflake glyphs spinning around both her wrists. Holding her fingers in a specific way, she looked back toward the others to note their positioning, then gestured in the direction of the space Bee, Masya, Lyse, and Meffrid occupied. A golden circle formed on the ground beneath them, its interior space filled with a clockwork design that rapidly began to spin in a clockwise direction.

The Ala Mhigan took a deep breath as he felt the affects of the elezen’s magic act on him. Time around him seemed to slow, his visual perception of the world brightening in the evening darkness. Masya and Bee, also affected by the magic, moved at what appeared to be a normal speed, the roegadyn glancing back to see his reaction and chuckling in amusement. Both of them, and likely himself and Lyse as well, were wreathed in a faint golden outline.

“On my signal,” Rurumi whispered from outside the affected field. Because the time dilation wasn’t applied to her, her words sounded extremely slow and drawn out to Meffrid’s ears.

Moments later, her firearm bucked, and he watched in an odd form of fascination as the shot ejected from the barrel of the weapon, the conical projectile spinning through the air in slow motion to his sped-up senses. The expanding cones of displaced air in the wake of the shot especially drew his attention.

Barely a few moments after Rurumi fired, Bee and Masya were up and sprinting, heading toward the center of the roof. Taking his cue from them, he rose as well and sprinted toward the Qiqirn in the far corner, who weren’t even beginning to react to the assault. At the edge of his vision, he spotted Lyse sprinting toward another pack of Qiqirn in the other corner.

Because of their enhanced speed, the trio of augmented fighters rapidly overtook Rurumi’s shot. Bee and Masya fell upon two of the Qiqirn threatening the captured villager, blades first, and Meffrid kept going. As he came within range of the other trio, he reared back and hurled the small shield on his left arm into their midst. The edge of the shield bashed in the head of one of the Qiqirns, the beastman just starting to collapse as the Ala Mhigan reached their midst. He wasted no time on flashy moves; two brutal chops and the three Qiqirn were no more.

The time dilation began to fade as he picked his shield back up and turned to see how the others were fairing. As expected, the three in the middle were little more than a memory at this point, the four Warriors of Light gathered over their bodies. Lyse, as well, had handily dealt with her foes, and was making her way back to the others.

By the time the two Ala Mhigans had regrouped with the others, the poor frightened villager was still unaware that he had been saved. “By Rhalgr, what did I ever do to deserve this?” he lamented, huddling to the ground with his arms held protectively over his head. “I’ve got to bed hungry for months. I’m skin and bones! I’d hardly make a snack, much less a meal...”

Idly wiping a patch of blood from her axe head with a cloth, Bee remarked, “I don’t think these guys would’ve been too concerned about all of that. Fortunately for you, there just happened to be a bunch of badasses in the neighborhood.”

Startled at her words, the man fell to the ground, then shortly thereafter jumped back to his feet, his eyes yet still wide with fear and alarm. “W-wait...are you here to rescue me?”

“Yep,” Bee and Rurumi both answered simultaneously, popping the ‘p’ in the word.

Beside the roegadyn warrior, Lyse smiled humorously at their antics, then nodded to the man. “Your sister sent us,” she explained. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“My sister?” The man let out a massive sigh of relief. “Oh, Rhalgr be praised, she’s safe! And you... you lot fought your way in here just for me?” He shook his head in disbelief, both at the action and that they would have performed it. “To think there are still good, brave folk in this world...”

Meffrid cast a quick glance about the rooftop, at the pile of bodies in nearly every direction. “We should go before more of them wonder why their fellows have gone silent,” he said. “Do you still have the tributum?”

The man looked as though he’d been touched with a live lightning cluster. “Gods, the tributum! The imperials will be wondering where I am! I have to go!”

Lyse looked at him as though he’d grown another leg. “What, you mean right now?” she asked. “As battered as you are?”

He shook his head adamantly, turning to adjust the straps of his pack chocobo’s load. “You don’t understand! We were given a warning last month for being short! If I don’t make it in time, there’s no telling what will happen to me and my sister!”

As he spoke, he pulled himself up onto the large yellow bird’s back, and then took off like a shot down the stairs they’d come up. Lyse started to move after him, but Meffrid held up an arm in her path, shaking his head sadly. “Let him go, Lyse. The hells will rain if he doesn’t deliver to the Empire, and we’re in no position to stop it.”

“Still, though...” the blonde woman murmured, looking uneasily past her fellow Ala Mhigan in the direction the villager had gone. “All this makes me uneasy. I just...I just want to make sure he makes it there safely.”

“I agree,” Blanchette spoke up. “If nothing else but to ensure he made it clear out of this dreadful place.”

Meffrid looked between the two women, then nodded in acquiescence. “...It’s a valid point,” he allowed. “Come on, let’s get down there and see if we can’t pick up his trail.” As the five of them started down the stairs again, he glanced to Masya. “I don’t supposed tracking is in your skill set too, is it?”

The miqo’te quirked an amused smirk. “Target pursuit is occasionally something a _shinobi_ requires,” she admitted. “But Bee and Rurumi are both hunters, and are at least as skilled at it as I am.”

“Good, good,” Meffrid said. “Then we should have no trouble catching up with him.”

They found no further Qiqirn waiting for them on the way down the stairs, and at the bottom, Bee knelt to carefully inspect the ground. Without being prompted, Blanchette summoned a faintly-glowing ball of aether and directed it to hover by the roegadyn woman’s head to give her some illumination.

After a few moments, Bee stood again. “Chocobo tracks, heading off this way,” she said, pointing to the northeast, back in the general direction of the village. Her brow furrowed. “They come to the village to pick up the tributum?”

Meffrid offered up a shrug. “Couldn’t say. Let’s just follow and see where it leads.”

There really wasn’t much other choice. They headed back out the previously-cleared gate, Bee keeping her eyes to the ground as they went. Once they were clear of the encampment, the tracks suddenly took a turn to the southeast, toward the high ridge that housed the upper part of the Peaks...and several imperial bases.

“If he’s gone into that ridge, we’re like to lose him,” Blanchette remarked.

“I doubt they’d let the villagers up into their high fort like that,” Meffrid replied, then pointed ahead. “There’s a collapsed bridge just around the bend. Let’s stick to the shadows and see what we can find.”

Making their way as close to the rock scree as they could, they soon came upon the broken bridge that Meffrid had mentioned. From its position and angle laying canted against the rocks, it appeared to have once allowed for traffic between the higher and lower portions of the Peaks, and seemed large enough to have supported carriage traffic; it was therefore large enough to conceal all five of them in its shadow.

No sooner had they reached the bridge, they heard the warble of a chocobo. Without needing to be told, they all took shelter in the shadow of the bridge. Once they had settled, with Bee laying prone on the ground and peering through a gap in the railing, they saw Wercrata and his choboco round the bend, approaching a group of figures coming down from the other half of the broken bridge.

Curiously, the approaching figures did not appear to be wearing standard imperial uniforms. Their garb more closely resembled the aesthetic found in Ala Mhigan armorsmithing, and were a mish-mash of colors that the imperials would not normally wear. All four of them were armed with shamshir-type curved blades, and three wore white masks with red wraparound hoods that completely concealed their faces. The fourth, a woman with short-cropped orange hair—their apparent leader—brought up the rear and wore no mask.

Lyse, confused by this nonstandard attire, asked Meffrid, “Are they imperials?”

Meffrid had scowled from the moment he spotted them. “Worse,” he grumbled. “Skulls.” He looked toward his fellow Ala Mhigan. “Listen to me, Lyse. Whatever happens, stay hidden and _do not_ intervene. Understood?” He reached out and tapped Bee on her heel. “That goes for you, too.”

Bee merely grunted, but Lyse looked at Meffrid in abject confusion. “What?”

By then, the three masked ‘Skulls’ had reached Wercrata. “You there!” the shortest of the trio called out. “Halt! You know you shouldn’t be here. Explain yourself.”

“F-forgive me, sir!” Wercrata replied, holding his hands out placatingly. “I-I came to deliver the tributum!”

Even with the mask concealing the man’s face, the disbelief was evident in his posture. “The tributum? Five bells late?! Only a fool would dare to come so late. Or mayhap...a Resistance spy.”

Wercrata took a step backward, frantically gesturing to prove his innocence. “No! No, you’ve got it all wrong!” he pleaded. “I was waylaid by bandits! It’s not my fault!”

“You’re a lying sack of shite, is what you are!” the Skull said, stepping forward and laying Wercrata flat with a single punch. A sack of coin fell from the villager’s pocket, which the swordsman swiftly plucked from the ground. He shook it a few times, then turned his attention back to the fallen man. “Is this a _joke_? You don’t seriously expect us to believe _this_ is a fifth. How stupid do you think we are?”

Shaking off the pain, Wercrata fell to his knees at the man’s feet. “It is, I swear! On me mother’s life!”

The taller of the three Skulls dashed in, driving his boot into Wercrata’s stomach and knocking him to the dusty ground once more. “Spare us!” the man spat. “You came late, you lied about bandits, and then you tried to cheat the Empire of its due.

Back in the shadow of the bridge, Lyse scowled and began to rise to her feet. At the same time, the temperature of the air rose as the tips of Bee’s hair began to emit burning embers. With an infuriating calmness, Meffrid looked between the two pissed-off women. “Lyse, Bee, stop,” he hissed. “Think you can kill all of them? Even the ones watching from the towers?”

The roegadyn growled low in her throat. “Rurumi’s sharpshooting can nail the watchers, and between the rest of us, these assholes wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Masya laid a restraining hand on her partner’s elbow, unmoved by the heat emanating from her body. “It’s not worth it,” she whispered. “It will only make things worse.”

“She’s right,” Meffrid said. “I’ve no doubt we’d make quick work of this lot, especially with that time power Blanchette has. But others would come for him, _and his family_. You’d be condeming them all to a life of hard labor. Assuming they didn’t just execute them outright.”

Slowly, with a look of heartwrenching regret on her face, Lyse unclenched her fists and fell back to her knees. “But this isn’t _fair_ ,” she bemoaned.

By now, all three of the Skulls had gotten involved in stomping on the downed Wercrata, who had curled himself into a fetal position and covered his head with his arms to protect himself as much as possible. A few paces away, his chocobo stamped its feet and whined at the assault on its master; but it was not combat-trained, and could not intervene on the poor man’s behalf.

“It’s your bloody fault we’re stuck out here patrolling this godsforsaken wasteland!” one of the Skulls shouted, pausing in his physical abuse to heap on some verbal and emotional. “It’s _your_ fault I have to listen to people go on and on about how ‘Ala Mhigans can’t be trusted’! I’ve worked and toiled harder than any man! I’m a citizen, godsdammit! And what are you!? A stupid, stubborn little dog who’d sooner bite the hand that feeds him and pine for the ‘good old days’!”

Realization hit the Scions all at once. The men’s accents, their unusual armor, their lack of standard-issue Garlean weapons.

These were not imperial forces.

 _The Skulls were Ala Mhigans, too_.

“Partisans,” Blanchette hissed, a cold fury hardening her icy gaze. It took all of her years of stoicism and the full strength of her willpower not to summon one of her many familiars on the spot and wipe the four of them from the face of the planet. “Local citizens loyal to the Empire, who would turn their blades on their own countrymen at the bidding of their masters. I am _intimately_ familiar with their ilk.”

“She means the heretics,” Masya explained, for the benefit of the two Ala Mhigans who had not been with them in Ishgard. “Ishgardians who threw in their lot with the dravanians during the war.”

At the foot of the bridge, the female commander stepped forward. “Enough of that,” she commanded. “Lord Zenos is expecting our report.”

With only one last parting shot to Wercrata, the other three Skulls heeded her orders, the four turning away and heading back up the bridge they had come down. Behind them, the beleaguered villager staggered to his feet, beckoning his chocobo to him. The bird stepped closer, and the poor man wrapped an arm around its neck, using it to support himself as he staggered back in the direction of Ala Gannha.

“The poor bastard probably can’t believe his luck,” Meffrid said sadly. “He gets to go home. We should do the same.”

He stood slowly, careful not to make any noise, and moved back along the rock wall, out of sight of the Skulls. Lyse and the Warriors of Light soon followed.

Behind them, the leader of the Skulls paused in her ascent back up the ridge, turning to look back over the lower area. During that entire affair, she’d had the distinct sensation of being watched—and more than once, had felt the cold brush of a killing intent leveled at her.

Once they were clear, Meffrid sighed and shook his head as he began the walk back to Ala Gannha via one of the alternate paths. “It tears me up inside to see our own kinsmen doing the bidding of the viceroy,” he said, then clenched his fist. “But they made their choice, and if it comes to it, I’ll cut down every last one of them myself.”

“At least Wercrata’s still alive,” Bee grumbled, the tension in her shoulders clear as she walked.

“Aye, and the tributum’s been paid,” Meffrid agreed. “That’s all that matters, at least for now. Let’s head back and make sure our man made it back safely.”

\---

Owing to being able to take a more direct route, Wercrata had returned to the village well before the Resistance fighters. No sooner had they made it into the village that they were informed that the elder wished to speak with them. Once at the older man’s tent, Raganfrid wasted no time.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did,” the elder said. “Wercrata told me everything, how the lot of you ran off the Qiqirn and saved his life.”

“For all the good it did,” Lyse said softly, her eyes lowered in shame. “We saw his meeting with the Skulls. How they beat him half to death. We could’ve stopped them.”

“Aye, I reckon you could,” Raganfrid stated. “Meffrid’s a warrior. You’re strong, like your father. And your friends here, it’s clear those weapons they’ve got aren’t just for show. The lot of you very likely could’ve wiped the floor with them.” His tone softened, and he momentarily shut his eyes in weariness. “But I thank Rhalgr you did not, because it wouldn’t have ended with them. Wercrata and his sister would’ve been branded insurgents, if not the whole lot of us. Bones heal, scars fade, but the dead remain dead. We’re alive, and that’s more than can be said for only the gods know how many others.”

Lyse lifted her head, a pain deep in her eyes. “That’s enough for you, is it? To put up with whatever they do to you, so long as you get to see another day?”

Raganfrid nodded, frowning slightly. It was more clear than ever that Lyse simply held a different viewpoint on the matter. “That’s right,” he said. “You grit your teeth and you learn to live with the pain. I’ll admit that I was quick to judge you, Lyse, and for that I apologize. I know you and yours mean well, I do. But I’m telling you, gods in heaven as my witness, that we’ve got nothing left to give. We can’t help you.”

The blonde highlander sighed slowly, closing her eyes. “I...I understand. Thank you for your honesty.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away. Fearing another repeat of the earlier incident, Rurumi immediately set off after her, leaving the other three Scions with Meffrid and the elder.

“She says it, but she doesn’t mean it,” the elder sighed. “Not that I expect her to; she gets that stubborn streak from her father. If she’s set on walking the same path, I but pray she won’t follow it to the same end...”

Bee turned back and gave Raganfrid a cocky smirk. “Trust me, that’s _not_ going to happen as long as we’re around.”

The old man smiled back. “I’m glad to hear that. It warms my old heart to know that Lyse has friends as good as you lot. We may not be able to give aid in men or materials, but know that you and yours will be in our hearts and prayers.”

Masya gave the elder a warm smile, resting her hand on Bee’s shoulder. “That is more than enough for us,” the miqo’te said.

Meffrid, looking in the direction that Lyse and Rurumi had gone, gave Blanchette an aside look. “Well,” he remarked. “She took it better than I anticipated. Which isn’t saying much, I suppose.”

The elezen shrugged. “We knew this was likely to be the outcome before we came in,” she replied. “But I understand her disappointment. We all do.”

“Aye.” The highlander nodded solemnly. “Well, best make sure she’s alright.”

In silence, the four of them headed to the west gate of the village, almost certain that Lyse hadn’t gone far. As they walked, it was Masya who first caught the change in the atmosphere around the village. Before, when they had entered Ala Gannha, the people regarded them with suspicion and fear. Now, as they crossed the center of the village, she noticed that when the people looked at them, they did so with gratitude, and a little bit of awe. It was by no means the first time their actions had had such an affect on the attitudes of people toward them, but it was still refreshing and pleasant to witness.

Lyse had indeed not gone far. Just to the left of the path out of the main gate, she stood behind a large boulder that obscured her from sight. Just beside her, Rurumi stood looking unalarmed, which was a good indication, at least.

Having heard them coming, the blonde woman lifted her head. “Sorry about running off like that,” she said. “Again.” She lifted her hands and rubbed them down her face, expelling a frustrated breath. “Ala Mhigans terrorizing their own... I just can’t accept it, you know? No matter what he thinks, they shouldn’t have to put up with it, day after day after day...”

Slowly, she turned halfway back toward them, the exhaustion plain on her face. “I’m not _completely_ naive. I don’t expect them to ‘storm a castrum with their pickaces and shovels, or whatever that was.” She waved a hand dismissively, and Blanchette smirked at her mimicking the youth from before. “But I didn’t expect Wercrata to just _lie there_ in the dirt while they kicked him. I can’t claim to know their pain. I barely remember this place or...”

Her eyes shut as she lowered her head, her next words so light that they were almost swallowed by the wind, “...or even my father’s face...”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she drew in a deep, ragged breath. “But I remember Yda’s,” she said, her voice cracking. “I remember how scared she was when we ran...and the look in her eyes when she talked about home... Her home...but not mine, is it?”

Meffrid lowered his gaze to the ground and crossed his arms, ashamed at himself that he could offer his fellow Ala Mhigan no words of comfort. Masya stepped forward, though, and laid a hand on Lyse’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Home isn’t just a village cut out of the side of a mountain, Lyse,” the miqo’te said, then touched the fingers of her free hand to the side of her head, “Home is here.” She laid her palm over her own heart. “And here.”

“Wait a minute, what?” Lyse asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “I don’t...”

“It’s like this,” Blanchette said, stepping forward. “I was born in Ishgard. It’s where I’m _from_. And I would fight and die to defend it—and almost did—” she muttered under her breath “—but it’s not my home. My _home_ is right here.”

If at all possible, Lyse looked about ready to have an aneurysm from her confusion.

Seeing this, the elezen giggled softly, then laid her hand on Masya’s shoulder. “With this grumpy cat...”

Bee stepped forward and rested her arm on Blanchette’s shoulder, putting just enough weight on her to unbalance her. “...And this walking disaster zone...”

Rurumi took a step back from Lyse to stand amongst her team. “...And this perpetual motion machine of eternal optimism,” the elezen finished. “As long as the four of us are together, we carry home with us wherever we go.”

The light of realization slowly dawned on Lyse’s face, before falling once more to sorrow. “I don’t... I don’t have that anymore...” she said sadly, withdrawing in on herself and reaching her right arm across her body to hold her left elbow.

There was a brief moment of silence as their thoughts turned to their recently-departed fellow Scion. He had given his life bravely to prevent another Calamity, saving not just the realm in general, but the Warriors of Light and Lyse in particular. Lyse had taken his death extremely hard—was still taking his death hard, but had resolved to not squander the gift he had bestowed upon them all.

“Don’t you?” Rurumi asked softly, smiling gently at Lyse. “We’re not Papalymo, but we care for you just as much.”

Lyse let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re right. Gods, you’re always right.” She lifted her head and smiled at them, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Papalymo, Y’shtola, Thancred, you guys, Alphinaud and Alisae, Krile, you’re all like family to me. I can’t—I _won’t—_ ever forget Yda or my father, but I know they’d have loved all the Scions just as much as they did me. And they’d be right here with us, probably.” Raising her head further, she pointed past the Warriors of Light to their Resistance onlooker. “And you, too, Meffrid!”

“Damned right,” he said proudly, thumping his chest with his fist. “We happy few, who’ve shed our blood together.”

Nodding at the Ala Mhigan’s words, Rurumi looked at Lyse again. “I don’t have all the answers, Lyse,” she said. “Not even Blanchette’s that smart.”

“Not for lack of trying,” the elezen joked off-hand.

Giggling, Rurumi continued, “But I _can_ promise you this...”

“ _We_ ,” Masya corrected.

The half-lalafell nodded in agreement. “ _We_ promise that you won’t ever be alone.”

Lyse smiled broadly, wiping a thumb under her eyes. “Gods, you’re going to make me cry again.”

The sound of footsteps drew their attention to the village path, and they turned to see the villager that had confronted Lyse earlier in the day approaching. Masya glanced toward Bee, but the taller woman showed no signs of immediately wishing to punch the young man’s face in. Of course, she didn’t seem _happy_ to see him either.

“There you are, Lyse,” the young man said. “I’ve been looking all over for you...”

Turning to face him, Lyse drew herself up and quickly sucked in a breath, not wanting to appear weak in front of this man. “Well, you found me. Got something else to say?” she demanded, a little harshly.

He didn’t begrudge her her tone. “Aye, that I do,” he answered. “I, um... I said some things to you before that I shouldn’t’ve. ’Twasn’t my place to do so, and I’m sorry.”

Bee bit her cheek to hold back a scathing retort, and in the silence that ensued, the young man looked to the ground in shame. “All that rubbish I spouted about how I loved Ala Gannha...but when one of ours was in need, I was cowering here with the rest. I didn’t even think to go after Wercrata... but you and yours did. It made me feel like the bloody hypocrite I am!” He shouted the last into the wind and spat at his feet.

Taking pity on the man, Masya quietly said, “To know your limits and not to act rashly is wise. But.... we do understand your frustrations.”

“Thank you for the kind words, though I know I don’t deserve them,” he said, deeply humbled by the miqo’te’s response. “But if I truly cared for the people of Ala Gannha, I’d fight for them. So I will...if you’ll have me.”

That proclamation stunned the lot of them as surely as a basilisk’s gaze attack. Lyse was the first to recover. “...You want to join the Resistance?”

The young man nodded firmly. “Yes. And some others I know who’ve been thinking about it for a while now. We’re few in number, and we’re not much next to hardened warriors like the lot of you, but...”

Meffrid laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “If your heart bleeds for Ala Mhigo, that’s all that we ask. You and yours are more than welcome at Rhalgr’s Reach.”

As Lyse clenched her fists and smiled gratefully to the heavens, the young man exclaimed, “Thank you, sir! You won’t regret this! I’ll go and speak with the others and we’ll be at the Reach before the morrow!”

With that, he turned and ran back into the village.

Grinning broadly, Meffrid turned around and looked to Lyse. “Not to undermine our valued friends’ words, but do you still think this isn’t your home, Lyse?”

She offered an innocent shrug and one of her rueful smiles. “Well, they’re right in that my home is truly with my friends, but I understand now what Blanche meant. Ala Gannha is where I’m from, and I’ll fight and die to see her freed from the Empire.”

“Well spoke,” Meffrid said with a nod. “So, my friends, that concludes our mission. Let us return to the Reach.”

\---

“ _So...”_ Yang began, as her character model began to float in the air in the midst of the teleport animation. _“Was that as emotionally-harrowing for anyone else?”_

“ _You mean the MSQ or our stuff?”_ Ruby asked.

“ _Our stuff,”_ Yang affirmed.

“ _Yeah...”_ Ruby said after a brief pause. _“My tissue box is significantly lighter.”_

“ _Mine, too,”_ Blake agreed. _“Very few novels have affected me this much.”_

Setting down her coffee mug in hands that were only shaking a little, Weiss hummed a few bars to make sure there wasn’t a tremor to her voice, then keyed her push-to-talk button. “That’s what happens when we ‘write’ from the heart.”

“ _Oh, my God, Weiss, you were_ amazing _,”_ Ruby squeed. _“I love you so much right now. I mean, I always love you, but I love you so much more. ...Which isn’t to say that I loved you less before we started playing tonight, but the things you were writing—”_

“Calm down, Ruby,” the German woman said soothingly, smiling at the younger woman’s panicked motor-mouth. “I know what you meant. And _I_ meant every word that I typed. You girls are my real family, and always will be.”

She expected Yang to make a snarky remark about metagaming, but instead was met with a thumping sound over the connection, and a hitch in the blonde’s voice as she said, _“God dammit, Weiss, I_ was _done crying...”_

Still emotionally-charged from the role-play they’d been doing, Weiss’ own eyes watered for a moment and she covered her mouth with her left hand.

“ _We are such a mess,”_ Blake commented.

“ _But we’re the best mess,”_ Ruby pointed out.

“ _You four are absolutely amazing,”_ said a new woman’s voice, warm and motherly. _“It was a little bit of a gamble to add in those extra scenes, but the four of you pulled them off spectacularly.”_

“ _Thanks for giving us the opportunity to take ’em and run,”_ Yang said. _“I spent half the time drowning in feels, the rest of it expecting you to railroad us back a whole lot harder.”_

The woman chuckled, and despite the slightly-menacing way that laugh sounded—honestly, most good story-tellers and game masters tended to sound that way—they knew that there wasn’t a bone of malice in their GM’s matronly body. _“I only set the stage, Yang. The four of you tell the story.”_

“ _Best. Story. Ever!”_ Ruby cheered.

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach  
_ _Occupied by the Ala Mhigan Resistance_

Once the group made it to Conrad’s war tent—notable by the absence of Conrad and M’naago, it was all business again. “First of all,” Meffrid said as he took his place across the table from them, “allow me to commend you all on a job well done. Though _absolutely nothing_ went according to plan, we nevertheless managed to attract some new recruits. And it was your passion and conviction—with a small helping of your martial prowess—that moved them to join. Thank you. All of you.”

Lyse shook her head firmly. “No, thank _you_ ,” she replied. “For giving me an opportunity to find out what our people have been through these past twenty years. It’s been...humbling. And exhausting. Emotionally and physically.”

“And troubling, with what we’ve learned,” Masya pointed out.

“Too right,” Lyse said with a nod. “I’d heard about the Skulls before, but that was the first time I’d seen them in the flesh.”

“Would that it had been the last time...” Bee muttered, not as under-her-breath as she perhaps should have.

Lyse once more nodded in agreement. “They may be more or less the same as any other imperial soldiers—and I suppose that’s how I’ll have to think of them if our paths ever cross out there, but...”

“ _When_ , not if,” Meffrid said soberly, raising a cautionary finger toward her. “That day _will_ come, Lyse. You can’t afford to hesitate when it does. Young, old, conscript, citizen, Garlean, Ala Mhigan—none of that matters. They’ve all got their reasons. But they’re no better than yours, especially when they’re bearing down on you, blade in hand.”

The blonde woman nodded once, her expression as serious as any of the Scions had ever seen it. “I won’t, you can count on that,” she swore. “I know only too well those that will suffer should I fail.” She glanced back at the Warriors of Light around her. “...or should I fall.”

“Well said,” Meffrid praised. “Saying _that_ , though, I don’t want to kill them any more than you do. If I could convince them to lay down their arms, I would. Sadly, I’ve never been much of a talker myself, but who knows. Maybe you cold be one, Lyse. Your father certainly was.”

“We can only hope,” she said quietly, refusing to get dragged away again by the tide of emotions.

Meffrid nodded. “Right then, I’d best begin preparing for these new recruits,” he said. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.”

The Ala Mhigan man headed off, no doubt to speak to those who would be responsible for the newcomers’ training. Scant moments later, Conrad and M’naago strode up to the tent, accompanied by the other four members of their sister team. Signs of battle were evident on them.

Bee raised an eyebrow at the other team. “You guys seem like you’ve been busy...” she teased.

Johnathan gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a funny story...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, apologies for the huge delay. I'd had it in my head to work on my other project before I wrote a new chapter of this, but I just kept puttin' it off, and puttin' it off, and puttin' it off. Then a few days ago I just said fuck it and came back to this. Look, just in time for patch 4.2!
> 
> If I invoked memories of certain parts of volume 5 (and hopefully, feels), then I've accomplished what I set out to do in this chapter. (Aside from just pushing through it because I was pretty 'meh' about the Peaks MSQ branch)
> 
> So I might have accidentally launched a ship.
> 
> Some people might accuse me of character assassination against Lyse, but I think these extra scenes more strongly develop her character. She's always been a very emotional woman, and she has not only just recently lost her closest friend in what is looking more and more like a senseless sacrifice, but the people of her home have basically just spit in her face. Her "oh, that's too bad" reaction in the game was always jarring to me.
> 
> A much-belated special thank you goes out to YouTuber and XIV'er Judas Aileron. His walkthrough videos are what get these chapters made because I was stupid and didn't record my own play-throughs.
> 
> The good news is that the Fringes MSQ (aka Side B) is much shorter and more fun than the Peaks. It will not take another five months to get out.


	6. Side B - Best Served with Cold Steel (Team JNPR)

Soon after their friends and comrades had left the tent along with Meffrid, the group of Johnathan, Sigrid, Thorvald, Rei, and Alisaie approached M’naago at the same entrance to the Reach they had come in by. “Let us defer to M’naago with regards to the route,” the young Sharlayan scholar was suggesting as they drew near. “While we could just as easily head back the way we came, there could be any number of reasons why we should not.”

“It’s always best to defer to those with the most experience in an area,” Sigrid agreed. “Especially a scout like M’naago.”

Hearing their approach, M’naago looked up from adjusting the items she carried in her armor. “Ah, there you lot are,” the miqo’te said. “Before we begin, I’d like to thank you and the Scions again for patching me up after I bled all over your floor. I owe you my life, and I won’t forget that.”

She settled her hands on her hips and looked down at the ground, a chagrined expression on her face. “Furthermore, it was rude of me to run off without saying a word. It’s all well and good, me claiming my duties here couldn’t wait, but a parting thank-you was the very least you deserved. My apologies.”

“Think nothing of it,” Johnathan said, giving her a friendly smile. “All of us are well familiar with the bonds of duty.”

M’naago smiled in return. “And...thank you. So, let’s be about it.”

Turning around, the miqo’te lead the way out of the Reach. Alisae and the others followed, put more at ease by the unconcerned air that the Resistance leader put off. Once they had left the safety of the glamoured field, however, the Warriors of Light immediately became more alert, paying closer attention to their surroundings.

“Is this a common route used by the Resistance?” Johnathan asked, feeling conversation acceptable given how relaxed their guide was.

“Aye,” M’naago said, though she kept her voice low. “One of about a dozen. Including a few tunnel routes.”

“That this one has gone so long undetected by the Empire given how open it is,” Thorvald remarked, looking across the dusty landscape, littered with the debris and detritus of Garlean magitek weapons destroyed by the clash between Shinryu and Omega. “Quite remarkable.”

“Normally we have to be a bit more careful,” the miqo’te admitted, paying no attention to the burning imperial cruiser pitched nose-down against a rock scree on their left. “But most of the Twelfth’s aerial forces were destroyed in that light show above the Wall, so we’ve got freedom of movement for a while before replacements arrive from Garlemald.”

Sigrid and Johnathan, the group’s two tacticians, exchanged a meaningful glance. “That’s important information,” the Azure Dragoon said. “It means we can operate without fear of Garlean air superiority for a time.”

“Long enough, mayhaps, to establish significant defense in depth against those air forces,” Rei accurately pointed out.

M’naago grinned, turning her head left and right to get corner-eye glances at her new allies without actually looking away from the path. “Listen at you lot,” she laughed. “Are you sure your talents aren’t wasted here instead of commanding armies?”

Johnathan shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “We’ve been blessed with the abilities we have for the purpose of aiding others. Something we cannot do from the head of armies.”

“I meant no offense, lord paladin,” M’naago apologized, though she had a suspicion that he hadn’t actually been angered by her suggestion. “Merely pointin’ out your strategic acumen.”

He smiled in response, nodding. “Thank you for the kind words. I simply didn’t wish to—”

“Quiet!” M’naago suddenly hissed, stopping suddenly and dropping to one knee. The others followed suit without a word of complaint. “...Did’ja hear that?”

Her only response was the wind between the rocks, and apprehensive confusion on the faces of the Scions.

“Ceruleum engine backfire,” she explained, her voice now a whisper. “ _Imperials_.”

“Ye _gods_ ,” Alisaie said, whispering as well as her gaze darted about frantically. She noted with grim certainty that the Warriors of Light had all drawn. “You must have preternatural senses. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“When you grow up hunting in these lands, you learn to discern the sounds that could mean life and death,” M’naago replied absently, her head tipped to the left, ears flicking frantically to and fro. “Be they predator or patrol.”

She was silent for several long moments, and then froze, obviously listening to sounds that were still beyond the register of the others. Somewhere in there, she had lifted her hand to signal silence from them to improve her hearing, a hand which she now lowered.

“Sounds like a seven-man patrol,” she informed them. “One magitek vehicle. Type...Predator scout. Wide search pattern. Two—no, _three_ groups. I don’t think they’re aware of us.”

“Then we have the opportunity to get the drop on them,” Thorvald said.

“You read my mind,” M’naago responded with a predatory grin. “I say we split up, take them all at the same time. We don’t need them calling reinforcements or reporting back.”

“Seven of them, seven of us,” Alisaie murmured, then shrugged. “Nothing for it, then. Where are they?”

“Go north,” M’naago instructed her. “In this terrain, with your attire, you should see them before they see you. I’ll handle the ones to the south.” She turned her attention to the Warriors of Light. “Magitek is due west of us. I think the four of you can manage?”

Gae Bolg in hand, Sigrid turned a smile on the miqo’te that sent shivers down her spine. “We’ll be fine,” she said.

Suppressing the animal urge to take a step back, M’naago forced herself to keep her mind to business. “We’ll hit them in five—should give us all more than enough time to get into position. Rendezvous on the west bank after. Questions?” When none presented themselves, she nodded and said simply, “Good luck.”

“Wait a moment,” Rei said suddenly, lifting her star globe. Magic swirled around the Raen woman, but far more subdued than normal; they were, after all, still in a stealth operation. The magic flared a fulm above her star globe, spreading out and enveloping the other three Warriors of Light, as well as M’naago and Alisaie. Afterwards, she gave a soft smile. “A little extra defense never hurts.”

“My thanks,” M’naago grinned, hefting her bow and slipping away to the south.

As Alisaie departed to the north, the Warriors of Light carefully scaled the tall rocky outcrop to their west, intent on getting a bird’s-eye view of the area. It took half of the allotted time to get into position, but once they did, they had a commanding view of the valley. Below them, they could see a small, two-legged single-occupant magitek armor with raking blades where a living creature might have arms—a scouting type—making way between the rocks with a dismounted trooper beside.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Thorvald asked Johnathan, his eyes fixed on the imperials below.

After a moment’s contemplation, the paladin suggested, “How about ‘Taxes’?”

The native Ala Mhigan grinned. “I like Taxes.” He turned to the Raen beside him. “I do believe it’s your turn, Rei.”

Nodding, the diminutive woman turned away and slipped down the side of the rock...

\---

Patrolling the Fringes—particularly in the Striped Hills—was among the worst duties an imperial soldier could be assigned. The weather was either hot and dry or hot and filled with choking dust storms, no middle ground. Particularly-aggressive beasts occasionally still attacked patrolmen, resulting in an above-average casualty rate. The utter lack of foliage and large rocky structures made the entire region a confusing echo chamber that often alerted rebel forces of their presence long before they could be engaged. And worst of all, the recent occupation of Castrum Oriens by the Eorzean Alliance meant that there was now a very real possibility of ambush by Eorzean regulars, further escalating the hazard rate of a patrolman’s duties. Of course, very rarely had Eorzean forces branched beyond the East End thus far, seeming content to shore up their defenses and reinforce their position. Mercifully, that meant contact with hostile forces was in the Striped Hills was extensively rare.

So imagine the surprise of the two-man Garlean patrol when they rounded a protruding outcrop to find a woman standing in their path. Holding a spinning astrolabe aloft above her left hand, she was one of the scalefolk from the Far East, whose people were unheard of in Gyr Abania. This meant she was almost certainly an agent of the Alliance, and set the two soldiers on guard.

They drew to a halt some thirty fulms from the woman, the scout walker’s occupant turning the opening of the underslung cannon directly onto her. The dismounted man advanced slowly, hand resting on his weapon.

“This road is closed,” the woman called out to them. “Your equipment and your magitek is now the property of the Eorzean Alliance. Surrender them peacefully, and you’ll be free to go.”

The dismounted man laughed aloud, drawing his pistol and raising it to the sky in warning. “This is the Emperor’s highway,” he called back. “I advise you to stand aside, woman.”

To underscore his words, the walker’s driver began charging the beam weapon on his vehicle.

To their great confusion, the woman appeared disappointed. “Wrong choice,” was all she said.

Without warning, the magitek walker exploded violently, the blast pitching the other man several fulms through the air. While in midair, he caught a glimpse of a large man wielding what looked like a magitek warhammer rising out of the wreckage of the destroyed walker, before a stunted tree halted his flight.

Stunned by the impact, he began to rise, reaching for his weapon. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see a figure in bronzed armor hurtling toward him. And then he saw no more.

\---

Sigrid wrenched her spear free of the fallen imperial, shaking it several times to free most of the blood clinging to its tip. Her three companions approached, Thorvald in particular looking extremely satisfied as he rested his warhammer—that once had belonged to an officer of the XIVth legion—on his shoulder.

“Somewhat disappointing that there were so few,” the Ala Mhigan said, then shrugged. “But perfectly executed, nonetheless.”

“Good job, everyone,” Johnathan praised, glancing over both the downed man and the magitek vehicle to ensure that neither of them would rise again. “Now let’s meet up with M’naago and Alisaie.”

All in agreement, the quartet left behind the rocky hills and approached the Velodyna River. It didn’t take them long to find their two compatriots waiting in the shadow of a tree by the riverside.

“Seems like it all went to plan,” M’naago said to them. “Not that I’m surprised. The three I faced didn’t put up much of a fight. Most of the imperials we get out here are conscripts from other provinces with little training and even less conviction.” The miqo’te shrugged. “It’s grim work, killing men and women like that, but don’t doubt they’d do the same to you if the roles were reversed.”

The Warriors of Light exchanged glances. “It seems that our targets were among the few who actually seemed in it for the Empire,” Rei idly remarked.

M’naago looked at her curiously for a moment, then shrugged. “I’d ask if you smashed that magitek up beyond use, but I’m pretty sure they heard that explosion back in Garlemald.” She smirked. “Good thing, too. Conscript or no, put a soldier in one of those and he can kill a good dozen or so men in the blink of an eye. Though, I’m sure all of you are well familiar with the imperials’ capabilities.”

She dusted her hands, then rolled her shoulders. “Well, then, let’s be on our way. Don’t want to be around when they come investigating that missing patrol.”

They remained unmolested by wildlife as they continued on their way; the crocodilians in the river seemed to recognize them and stayed well clear, and the path M’naago blazed through the brush also swung them wide of any wildlife in the woods. Before very long, they had come across the bridge that they had traversed on their way to the Reach, only now it was occupied by a small group of uniformed Eorzean soldiers.

“Well, that indicates safety, I believe,” M’naago said, observing the bridge from behind the root of a large tree. She turned to face the others. “Your comrade had said the forces at Castrum Oriens were under the command of Flame General Raubahn Aldynn, did she not?”

“That’s right,” Alisaie confirmed. “In fact, he commands the entire expeditionary force.”

M’naago gasped, and for a moment, she wasn’t a seasoned, battle-hardened veteran freedom fighter; in that brief instant, she was a fangirl. “By Rhalgr! The Bull of Ala Mhigo, himself! I never dreamed I’d have a chance to meet the legend...”

It was only long years of battle instinct that kept her from immediately sprinting ahead in hopes of meeting the Flame General sooner, and thereby earning a pike to the guts from one of the Temple Knights guarding the bridge ahead. Alisaie and the Warriors of Light stepped out alongside her, approaching the bridge at a slow pace.

They were met by an elezen wearing Twin Adders colors, who nodded to them in greeting. “Well met, Scions. Returning to the castrum?”

Alisaie nodded in return. “Yes. We’ve brought a representative of the Ala Mhigan Resistance. She’s come to deliver their formal reply to General Aldynn.”

“Understood,” the soldier said, stepping aside and waving them through. “I’ll comm ahead and let them know you’re on your way. Oh, try to stay on the paths. We’re still working on sweeping the forests and making sure the Garleans haven’t left us any nasty surprises.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Johnathan said, patting the man on the shoulder as the six of them crossed the bridge.

As they passed the checkpoint, the two Temple Knights on either side of the bridge saluted Sigrid, who returned the gesture. Once past, M’naago looked back behind them, one eyebrow raised. “What was that all about?”

“Our friend holds the title of Azure Dragoon,” Thorvald explained, dropping his hand on Sigrid’s shoulder and—again—somehow managing not to impale his hand on her armor spikes. “First amongst all of Ishgard’s storied dragon-slayers. They’re showing their respect.”

“Ahh,” the miqo’te said, nodding in understanding. “Makes sense.”

The rest of the journey went with no interruptions. As had been indicated by the soldiers at the checkpoint, the beaten path was entirely clear even of local wildlife. Many of the creatures had probably moved on or taken shelter now that Alliance forces had entered the region in bulk. They encountered several more patrols moving along the paths, and spotted some out in the woods.

Finally, the castrum gates loomed before them. Half a dozen assorted Alliance troops guarded the entryway, but two figures stood out from the rest. Unlike the others, who wore the color-coded light battle armor of their respective nations, these two unusual ones wore white armor of what appeared to be heavy plate, down to concealing white helmets that hid their faces. Also unique to them were the large firearms they carried. They also did not seem to move about idly as the other guards did.

Somewhat unnerved by those two strange security figures, the six entered the castrum upon being waved in by a large roegadyn in a Maelstrom uniform. Shaking it off, they directly approached Raubahn’s command tent, where the Ala Mhigan expatriate was currently speaking to his adopted son, Marshal Pipin. They seemed to have the fortune to have caught him when he wasn’t in the midst of busy operations.

“It is good to see you again, my friends,” the Flame General said as they came to a stop. “I hope you are here to tell me you have made contact with the Resistance?”

“We are, General,” Alisaie confirmed. She gestured with her right hand to the miqo’te standing beside her—who, on closer inspection, appeared to be vibrating from ill-contained excitement. “Allow me to introduce M’naago, lieutenant of Conrad Kemp, leader of the Resistance forces at Rhalgr’s Reach.”

The miqo’te took two steps forward and bowed at the waist. “At your service, sir!” she proclaimed. She struggled to keep a starstruck grin off her face as she continued, “And may I say what an absolute honor it is to stand before the Bull of Ala Mhigo!”

Pipin glanced up at Raubahn, who took a moment to consider his words before responding, “These are not the bloodsands, girl. You and I are but soldiers on a battlefield fighting for the same cause.”

M’naago’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “A-As you say, General. My apologies.” She cleared her throat, then reached into a hip pouch of her armor and produced a rolled parchment, holding it out toward Raubahn in both hands. “On behalf of Commander Kemp of the Ala Mhigan Resistance, I present to you our formal response.”

Stepping forward, Raubahn took the missive and lifted it up, unsealing and unrolling it with remarkable dexterity for a man with only one arm. In silence, the Scions and M’naago watched his eyes flick back and forth as he read their response with nary a word, his stone-faced expression offering no clues as to his thoughts.

Finally, he lowered the missive, setting it down on the war map to his right. “Good, good,” he pronounced. “I am glad we have reached an accord. Though I was not aware you had suffered such losses.”

The Resistance leader’s shoulders slumped slightly, but she took a deep breath to power through the memories and refused to break eye contact with Raubahn. “Aye... Some of our finest took part in the Griffin’s doomed assault, and we’ve been struggling to find new recruits ever since. Even now, the other half of your esteemed Warriors of Light are out with one of my comrades seeking new recruits. I don’t envy them, though: the massacre cast a pall over the whole idea of resistance. Many who might once have been open to joining us have since thought better of it.”

It was unfortunate, but Alisaie could not find fault with the people’s attitude. “After all of the Griffin’s false promises, one can hardly blame them,” she said. “They have no desire to give their lives for a lost cause.”

Silence fell over the gathering for a moment; it was not the first time the campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo had been termed such, and it was not like to be the last. But Raubahn would not be dissuaded by such thoughts.

“We’ll not hide behind honeyed words,” he said. “This is war, and lives will be lost. Yet we do not offer the fevered dream of a madman, but true hope.”

“The people need proof of this, Father,” Pipin said in agreement. “Let us show it to them.” His open-handed gesture took in M’naago standing before them. “We should stand shoulder to shoulder with our new allies and engage the Garleans in open warfare. The Resistance _must_ demonstrate that they can hold their own against imperial regulars, and with our aid, I am confident they can do just that.” He cast his gaze about, observing the reactions of the others. “If we can achieve even a _token_ victory, I believe it will serve to rekindle the hope of the Ala Mhigan people, and inspire them to rise up once more.”

“Aye...” M’naago said softly, and the others could all but see the idea taking root and growing in her mind. After a moment, she laughed and slammed a fist into her open palm. “Aye! Once word spread that we’d won a battle against the Garleans, I wager we’d have new recruits flocking to us from malms around. The question is, when and where do we strike?”

An infuriatingly-smug, shite-eating grin spread itself slowly across Pipin’s face. “I’m glad you asked,” the lalafell marshal said. “For I have a plan.”

Stepping forward to the map table, he plucked one of the pieces that represented magitek formations and set it on the location of the Velodyna bridge. “Our scouts have reported an interesting recent development at Castellum Velodyna. Namely, a shipment whose markings indicate it came from the research and development facilities near the capital, bearing prototype magitek armor. Our analysts assess that this armor is to be field-tested here, likely against Alliance forces. Mayhap before the day is out.”

M’naago cursed. “Damn it all, more magitek weapons? That’s the last thing we need!”

“On this we are agreed, but you need not despair just yet,” Pipin said placatingly. “The enemy are thought to have only received a single heavy unit and one, possibly two, smaller supporting units. With a well-laid ambush, I have confidence that we can destroy them all, thus hindering their development and stalling future deployment.”

“And to make this a joint effort with the Resistance, they shall have their rallying cry,” Raubahn postulated, knowing full well where his adopted son’s head was at.

“You’d have no more pretenses about not being for war with the Empire, General,” M’naago cautioned.

“Not that anyone believes that in the first place,” Johnathan truthfully pointed out.

“True enough,” M’naago agreed. “But with it out in the open, you’d have a lot more folk willing to stand up and fight knowing they’re not alone. And like your man says, it’s inevitable at this point, anyway.”

“Precisely,” Pipin said, picking up several more pieces. “And so what I propose is simple...”

He laid out a number of smaller pieces that represented patrol or squad-sized units, colored for both imperial and Alliance forces. “Harry their patrols to bait them into bringing their prototype weapon to the East End...” As he spoke, he pulled the magitek piece up into the East End, meeting it with a large Alliance formation piece. He then dropped several yellow-colored pieces in behind the enemy piece. “...where our Resistance allies can take them from behind.”

Grinning broadly, M’naago reached out and tipped the magitek piece over onto its side.

“Simple indeed,” Raubahn pronounced. “And well within our capabilities. I see no reason to delay, especially if a field test is imminent.” His gaze turned to M’naago. “What say you?”

“Assuming the vice marshal’s intelligence is accurate, I agree with his assessment and fully support the plan,” she said. “With your leave, General, I’ll return to the Reach at once and rally our forces.”

“Understood,” Pipin said. “I’ll have a runner deliver the details as soon as we’ve solidified it.”

With an exchange of salutes, M’naago departed, disappearing out the castrum gates within seconds. Once she was gone, Alisaie looked to the Warriors of Light. “And we, for our part, will be fighting with the Alliance, yes?” she asked. “I somehow doubt you all were intending to sit this one out.”

“Of course,” Johnathan answered.

“We came to free Ala Mhigo from the Empire,” Thorvald elaborated, receiving nods of agreement from Sigrid and Rei. “And we can’t very well do that cooling our heels inside our fortifications.”

Raubahn turned his attention toward them. “Thus far, we’ve been careful to avoid needless shows of force this side of the Wall,” he told them. “But today, all that changes. And you may be sure they’ll send their new toys out to entertain us when that happens. My thanks for your willingness to participate in this operation.”

With one sweep of his arm, he cleared the map of the markers and picked up an enemy patrol token and another that had been sitting aside unused until now. This token was in the shape of a crystal, and was larger than all but the largest of the formation pieces. “Per Pipin’s plan, we need to turn East End into an imperial graveyard,” Raubahn said. “You all are dab hands at this, and I’d be a fool not to use you.” He placed down the patrol token at the far northeast end of the forest, near the banks of the Upper Velodyna River. “Head to this spot...”

“Right there, aye,” Pipin, the spymaster who sat at the center of the Alliance’s patrol and information web, affirmed. “Intel indicates that an enemy patrol should be along shortly.”

“Deal with them,” Raubahn said, decisively placing the crystal token over top of the patrol token, “then rendezvous with the rest of us at this location.” He picked up the large allied formation token from before and set it at a rocky outcropping near a bridge not very far to the southeast. “Go well, my friends.”

The four Warriors of Light turned and exited the castrum, leaving behind the Flame General to begin building his part of the assault. Sigrid consulted her map for where they were to ambush the enemy forces, then gestured with her left hand off toward the river and started walking. As they went, they noticed that they saw fewer Allied patrols this time, almost certainly part of the deception to lure the imperial forces into their trap.

They journeyed in relative silence until they reached the first fork, at which they turned left toward the river. “Soon it begins,” Thorvald said solemnly. “The first real action against the Empire.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Johnathan agreed. “These people have suffered long enough.”

“And if the Twelve grace us, what we begin here will ignite a firestorm that spreads ’round the world, casting off the shackles of Garlemald wherever they may be found,” Sigrid stated, idly watching the brush for any stray movements.

In the center of the group, Rei nodded slowly. “I would like to see the land of my ancestors, her people free for the first time in...”

Thorvald laid a comforting hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder, and silence surrounded them once more.

Once on the far side of the bridge checkpoint, a smile spread across Thorvald’s face. “Hey, let’s do ‘Get Help,’” he suggested.

“No,” Rei immediately said, her face a study in exasperation.

“Oh, come on, you love it,” he said teasingly.

She shook her head emphatically. “I hate it.”

“That may not be the most...efficient plan...” Sigrid attempted to play mediator.

Thorvald looked between the two. “It’s great! It works every time.”

Rei frowned. “It’s humiliating.” On her other side, both Johnathan and Sigrid nodded their heads in agreement.

“Do you have a better plan?” the highlander challenged, raising his chin slightly, a triumphant grin on his face.

Without having first seen the lay of the terrain, she could not suggest one of their many terrain-dependent plans—such as Taxes—and he knew it. “No,” the Raen answered simply, staring unflinchingly into the man’s eyes.

“We’re doing it,” Thorvald chuckled.

“We are _not_ doing ‘Get Help’.”

\---

To say that the two imperial soldiers were surprised when they saw a well-built highlander man with red hair dragging a limp, light-haired midlander along the shores of the Velodyna River would be something of an understatement.

“Get help!” the highlander cried out to them as he drew near, panic clear in his voice. “My friend is dying!”

The sheer absurdity of the entire situation caught the soldiers off-guard, and perhaps if they hadn’t been so taken aback, they might have noticed that there was nothing about the smaller man that indicated he was in any sort of mortal peril. Because of this, they were several precious seconds too slow in reaching for their weapons.

In the span of an eyeblink, the highlander had lifted his companion off his feet and hurled him bodily—two hundred pounds of man and fifty-odd pounds of weapon and armor—into the soldiers. The force of impact sent all three tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs and armor, the imperials knocked unconscious by the hit.

“Ahh, classic,” Thorvald remarked with a broad smile as he sauntered up, scooping up one of the imperials’ dropped axe and using it to finish the two soldiers off.

“I just don’t understand why _I_ was the one to get rag-dolled,” Johnathan grumped, standing up and adjusting his armor properly.

“Well, it was your turn,” the Ala Mhigan replied, dropping the axe to the bloody ground. “Rei did ‘Taxes’ and this was you. Next one’s on me.”

Their female comrades regrouped with them presently, the faint hint of exasperation still visible on the Auri woman’s face. “That went well,” Sigrid remarked, looking down at the corpses for a moment. “Let us be on our way to regroup with the general.”

“Let’s just make sure the enemy doesn’t miss these guys, first,” Thorvald remarked, dragging them further into the open.

Once satisfied, he nodded, and the group headed back into the woods.

\---

At the marked rendezvous location, the Warriors of Light found Raubahn and Alisaie standing behind a pile of boulders, hidden from the view of anyone who might approach from the bridge just south of them. “All went to plan, then?” Raubahn asked as they joined him. “Good.”

He noticed Sigrid looking about the area with a furrowed brow. “Have no fear our apparent lack of numbers,” he told her. “Nearly a full company is hidden within sight of this bridge.” When she gave a thin smile and nod, he pulled a small timepiece on a chain from his armor, checked it, then stowed it again. “Our scouts have reported that a unit escorting the prototype weapons has left Castellum Velodyna. Our Resistance friends are already in position, so we have but to wait for our guests to arrive...”

\---

Any early access period on a brand-new expansion was prone to having bugs. That was simply the nature of video games. Already, thanks to the diligent tracking of news related to the game from Penny, they were aware of some issues with single-player instance crowding.

So as Jaune stared at the black screen of his game, with the spinning white loading wheel down in the lower right corner, he clung to the faint hope that he was dealing only with normal early access lag and not the dreaded case of an instance lockout. He and the other members of JNPR had been waiting at that loading screen for long enough that they’d gone back to the general voice channel in Discord.

“ _I think we’re at a quest with an instance in it,”_ Pyrrha was saying.

“ _Which one is it?”_ Mercury asked.

“‘ _Best Served with Cold Steel’.”_

There was silence for a moment, then a sound of snapping fingers and Mercury said, _“Oh, yep, that one. The ‘magitek weapon’. Yeah, that’s an instance.”_

“ _That is, in fact, one of the two instances that are currently causing a great deal of difficulty,”_ Penny added. _“I am sorry to say that you might have trouble progressing that quest.”_

“ _Oh, shit!”_ Nora suddenly exclaimed. _“I got 90k’d!”_

“ _So was I,”_ Ren calmly remarked. From down the hall, Jaune heard the Asian man get up and step into Nora’s room, almost certainly to prevent the oncoming raging they knew would follow from Nora.

The sound of a server window opening in the game drew Jaune’s attention, and he found himself staring at the dreaded box: ‘Connection with the server was lost. 90002’

“Ah, there I go,” he said into the chat, booting his game back up and logging in.

“ _Mine went down, too,”_ Pyrrha sighed.

“Heh, so much for the legendary Team JNPR,” Jaune joked.

“ _The Empire employed the nastiest weapon against you,”_ Mercury said with a laugh. _“Server congestion.”_

On the character select screen, Jaune picked his main, looked away as the loading screen came up, and then moments later the character select screen came back. Only this time, a pop-up in the middle of the screen helpfully informed him, ‘This World is currently full. Players in queue: 6,178.’

“Uh...wow.”

“ _What is it?”_ Ren asked, now back at his computer.

“Check the log-in queues.”

“ _...That is...considerable.”_

Before Jaune could say anything else, his screen refreshed, but the number in the queue had not reduced. “...Yeah, we may be here for a while...”

“ _I am sorry for your troubles, my friends,”_ Penny said soothingly. _“That particular instance has begun to be referred to as ‘Raubahn Extreme’ on Reddit.”_

Nora laughed bitterly. _“They sure as hell aren’t kidding...”_

\---

_One hour later, after a twenty minute queue, another 90002 error, and a second twenty-five minute queue, plus loading screen delays, the four members of Team JNPR finally got past Raubahn EX..._

\---

The ambush party had not been waiting long when the enemy made their presence known. The first sound they heard was the steady rumble of heavy armor clomping its way along the wooded path, soon being accompanied by the hiss of air escaping from mechanized joints. And then....boisterous chatter?

“...it’s like all my namedays have come at once!”

Sigrid sighed quietly. “Not him again...”

Alisaie looked toward her questioningly, but before she could ask, the lead forces of the enemy party—the loud officer, four soldiers, a modified magitek vanguard, and two smaller spider-like magitek—had reached the bridge. Raubahn turned and nodded back to Sigrid, who returned it.

From either side of the path, the four Warriors of Light stepped from hiding, weapons drawn but held casually, and interposed themselves directly in the path of the imperial forces. The four soldiers drew arms and readied immediately, but the magitek remained motionless: unable to act without direct orders.

The roegadyn officer laughed loud and long at the four of them. “Well, well, well!” he proclaimed jovially, planting his hands on his hips. “If it isn’t Garlond’s little troublemakers! Where are the rest of you at, hm?” He made a show of turning and scanning the empty path behind him. “Sneaking up behind like the devilish little sots they are?”

Johnathan shrugged casually, silently noting the all-but-invisible border of hazy black energy that had formed around his shield. “Oh, you know how the girls are,” he answered, as though speaking to an old friend. “They’re out there causing mischief and mayhem somewhere.”

Chuckling, the roegadyn nodded in agreement. Behind him, his troops were bewildered why he was taking so long to carry on a casual conversation with the enemy. “Aye, I certainly know the naughtiness they can get up to,” he said. “I’ll just have to hunt them down later, and see the look on Zenos’s face when I bring him all eight of your heads!”

He rolled his neck, and grinned fiendishly at the Warriors of Light. “That is, if my weapons don’t grind them into mush! Att—”

Before he could complete his order, a loud roar arose from either side of the path as Raubahn, Alisaie, and a half-dozen Alliance forces besides stampeded into the imperial formation. The moment their eyes came away from him, Johnathan reared back and flung the shield on his left arm. The metal implement bounced off the roegadyn’s head, stunning him a moment and allowing the paladin to close the distance. Ricocheting off the enemy officer, it struck an imperial swordsman in the side of the head, sending him reeling in time for Raubahn to reach the fray, the blade of Tizona nearly cleaving the hapless imperial in twain.

Johnathan was the first to reach the imperial officer, catching his returning shield in his left hand moments before his blade landed against the roegadyn’s shield, hastily raised to defend him against a mortal draw. Moments later, Raubahn struck his blade toward the roegadyn’s undefended side, but was halted on the haft of the man’s gunhammer.

“Adders, Flames!” the Flame General barked above the chaos. “Deal with the escort! Leave the armor to the Scions!”

In the next instant, Sigrid came down from a high leap, the tip of Gae Bolg striking the center of one of the spider magitek with such force that the little thing promptly exploded, its legs cartwheeling away from the point of impact. Thorvald came in beside her, his own bright red magitek warhammer cocked back in a swinging stance. The second spider attempted to evade the hit, but found its legs immobile, and surrounded by a curious black haze. Then Thorvald struck it with a concussive boom, and the thing was no more.

“Bugger me!” the imperial officer swore, finding the strength to shove back both Raubahn and Johnathan. “Is that General Aldynn!?” He laughed uproariously. “A chance to get my revenge on the Scions, and test our new weapons, _and_ kill an Alliance commander! Ohhh, it doesn’t get much better than this!”

Standing shoulder to shoulder, Raubahn didn’t take his eyes off the enemy as he spoke calmly to Johnathan, “Leave him to me. The weapon is the priority.”

“Right,” the paladin nodded, then hurled his shield toward the roegadyn once more before darting to the left, where Alisaie was engaging the prototype vanguard, with Rei providing distant support.

The enemy commander, expecting it this time, raised his shield to ward off the projectile. In doing so, however, he left himself open to a powerful cut from Raubahn that cleaved his armor nearly all the way through. Roaring in anger, the roegadyn hefted his gunhammer and charged at the grim-faced Ala Mhigan warrior.

Arcing through the air, Johnathan’s shield returned to him just in time for him to step into the vanguard’s path and intercept a massive spike from the barrage of dozens that would’ve taken Alisaie down in a single stroke. As the white glow at the center of his shield—and the faint black haze around its edge—faded, he flipped his grip on his sword and brought it up in a powerful uppercut slash that would’ve gored a human foe from groin to chin. As it were, the strike merely left a score in the front of the thing’s heavy frontal armor—and a woefully shallow score at that.

“My thanks,” Alisaie said as she tightened her grip on her aetherial blade. “One would almost think he harbored a grudge against you all. Whatever did you do to him?”

“Oh, humiliated him at Carteneau,” Johnathan casually remarked, stepping around a blow from the vanguard’s piledriver arms and slipping to its side, searching for a weak joint to drive his blade through. With the weapon’s arm extended past him, he struck down in an overhead slash into the exposed elbow joint, knowing that the machine’s hydraulic lines were likely clustered there.

A jet of high-pressure ceruleum fluid burst forth from the damaged lines, splattering from the shield he had preemptively raised against just such an occurrence. To his annoyance, however, the spray soon abated and ceased—the mechanical knowledge of the player behind the computer clued Jaune in that the machine had sufficient backup systems to prevent catastrophic fluid loss.

“Hurry up and _kill the bastards!_ ” the imperial roegadyn roared, infuriated by his inability to batter back the defenses of a literal one-armed man. “We’ve got ’em outnumbered!”

Keeping his shield raised a few ilms in front of his face, Johnathan briefly scanned the battlefield—and was not heartened by what he saw. An allied pugilist was down and bleeding, the imperial soldier above him preparing to finish him off. Johnathan’s thrown shield prevented the killing strike, and as Sigrid heard the sound of the shield striking something, she looked up to see it rebounding into the distance. She twirled her spear in her hands, the motion covering a subtle twist of her fingers to send the shield back to its owner, and stepped forward to drive the dragon-slaying weapon into the imperial swordsman’s back.

Across the field, the allied conjurer noticed the trouble that had befallen the pugilist and raised his cane to throw a healing spell across the field to the downed man. Before the elezen man could complete his cast, a fireball from an imperial spellcaster came at him, forcing him to bat the blast aside with his staff. Further barrages of fire forced the healer back behind a tree for cover.

“Thorvald, batter up!” Johnathan shouted, gesturing with his sword toward the imperial caster. “Sigrid, cover the conjurer!”

His two teammates nodded and set about their tasks. Sigrid leaped in a low arc to the tree where the Twin Adders man was in cover, shielding him bodily and giving him the opportunity to break cover and drag the wounded man to safety, directing healing magic into him as he moved. Thorvald closed on the imperial caster, alone and unguarded, and smashed his warhammer into the man, sending him crashing into a tall tree nearby. The man hit the ground and didn’t rise, but just to make sure, the Ala Mhigan stepped over and drove the magitek weapon into what was now that soldier’s grave.

Into the center of the fray dashed Rei, aspected aether already swirling about her star globe. She placed herself in between the duels of Raubahn and the imperial commander, and Johnathan and Alisaie with the prototype vanguard, ensuring the maximum coverage of her magic. Hoisting the star globe aloft, a wave of restorative and shielding magic burst forth centered on her, revitalizing the Alliance forces and giving them a few precious seconds of magical nullification of incoming damage.

As soon as she had cast her _Aspected Helios_ , she retreated straight backwards, Johnathan covering her retreat by striking the front of his shield with his blade, generating a blinding flash of aether to antagonize the remaining foes. The imperial commander let out a shout of anger and agony as spots danced before his vision, giving Raubahn the opportunity to knock the roegadyn down with a heavy shoulder check. As soon as he hit the ground, the imperial brought his shield over to protect from the Flame General’s next attack; an answering blast of gunfire from the base of the shield forced Raubahn back long enough for the commander to regain his feet.

“Get after them, damn you!” the imperial shouted as he came upright.

Two large containers on the ‘shoulders’ of the prototype vanguard opened in the back, spewing out another pair of the small magitek spiders into the fray. Thorvald, already in that area, lifted his hammer and brought it swinging down at the two machines, but these ones were swift enough to avoid the worst of the rippling blast of energy released by the ground impact. Before the machines could separate to attack him from the flanks, a globe of gravity magic pinned them in place, leaving them easy pickings for the highlander’s next sweeping hammer blow.

With that threat dealt with, Thorvald turned and smashed his hammer as hard as he could into the right leg of the prototype vanguard. The force of the blow was so strong that it actually drove the leg down into the soft forest loam deep enough to cause the weapon to stagger.

Having noticed the prototype weapon’s attacks momentarily cease, the roegadyn commander snarled, “Damned piece of shite! Give them everything you’ve got!”

Both the front and rear sections of the containers opened once more, the rear disgorging more magitek spiders, but the front openings revealing a bank of miniature artillery tubes. With the heavy thump of ceruleum launch charges igniting, the prototype launched a spread of mortars into the air.

“Scatter!” Johnathan shouted, sprinting around the vanguard’s side and sheltering himself and Alisaie beneath his shield.

Raubahn glanced up, having a hard time spotting the weapons in the dim light. The enemy commander laughed and boldly proclaimed, “Now I’ve got you!” as he swung his own hammer at the Flame General, only to be deflected aside with an almost-contemptful ease.

Sigrid looked up to see the explosive devices at the apex of their flight, and subtly gestured with her hand before leaping into the sky and coming down on the quartet of clustered magitek spiders in an explosive dive attack.

In what appeared to the casual observer to be an error in targeting, all four mortars exploded harmlessly away from any Alliance forces.

“There’s no end to them...” Alisaie murmured to herself as she finished off one of the spiders that was trying to escape from Sigrid with a simple stabbing motion.

“There’s gotta be a limit to how many that thing can carry,” Johnathan remarked as he dropped into a defensive crouch and pushed aether into his shield to augment its defensive capacity as the vanguard fired another spread of steel spikes directly at him and Alisaie.

It took advantage of the momentary delay in attacks to pull its leg out of the hole Thorvald had smashed it into, then opened its forward launchers once more. From behind it, both highlanders struck it in tandem: Sigrid drove her spear into the large gear that provided it the motion of its left arm and wrenched, snapping several of the support struts; Thorvald battered the inside of its right pile-bunker arm hard enough to dent the casing in. The double attack had the added benefit of throwing its targeting for the mortars well off, sending the rounds sailing harmlessly into the woods.

“Keep it up, lads!” Raubahn shouted, stepping aside from a rising hammer uppercut and responding in kind with a horizontal sweep that opened another score in the imperial’s armor nearly to flesh. “That thing won’t take much more!”

Retrieving her spear, Sigrid turned to repeat her assault on the weapon’s other arm when a pair of fireballs struck her in the side. Having been forged to handle the breath of greater wyrms, the two paltry fire attacks barely tickled her. She looked to the rear to see more imperial troops coming from the direction of the river garrison. “Enemy reinforcements!” she called in alert, turning fully to face them.

“Leave them to me!” Thorvald announced, rushing back to intercept them.

Before Sigrid could turn back, a great thundering blast from the vanguard staggered her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw smoke issuing from the pile-bunker on its right arm, and deduced that it had attempted to fire the compromised weapon, only for the thing to literally explode in its face.

The blast had also shaken not only Johnathan and Alisaie, but also Raubahn and the imperial commander, the latter of whom coughed to clear his throat, then growled out, “Enough! We have secret weapons of great power, don’t we? Let’s bloody well use ’em!”

“On your guard, everyone!” Alisaie warned, glaring at the commander as she dodged another swipe from the vanguard. “He’s up to something!”

Sigrid felt a faint impact, as though someone had pelted her with a rock. She looked around, but no one was in a position to threaten her, and so returned to driving her spear at the vanguard’s joints.

“Magitek bit!” called out the allied conjurer, still under cover healing the Flames pugilist. “Coming right at you, Scions!”

Alisaie glanced back in time to nearly be flattened by the speeding imperial weapon, which blew directly past her on a course for the Azure Dragoon. “Sigrid, look out, it’s on you!” the elezen called out in warning.

The dragoon wasted no time in backflipping away from the threat, alighting on the wreckage of a crashed imperial fighter some distance away from the prototype. The flying spherical device came at her, gaining altitude to reach her position, but exploded harmlessly halfway between the vanguard and her. Gripping her spear, she leapt into the sky again and came down hard on the joint she’d already damaged. Garlean steel shrieked in protest and warped, and the arm fell entirely from the weapon, its weight unfortunately missing the imperial commander by scant ilms.

“Damn it all!” the roegadyn swore, turning and impulsively kicking the fallen armor piece. “Haven’t we got anything else!? More armor or weapons or something!?”

By now, a great clamor had arisen in the brush surrounding the ambush site; more imperial forces had arrived, it seemed, and had been caught and engaged by the rest of the company Raubahn had brought to the field. More than a score of the magitek spiders, however, had slipped the line and were now skittering toward the Allied forces. And yet another of the magitek bits had appeared and was closing on Sigrid.

“More reinforcements?” Raubahn grumbled, tightening his grip on his blade. “I’m going to have to have a word with our scouts...”

He feinted right, luring the roegadyn into believing he’d left his ‘weak’ left side exposed, and stepped inside the enemy’s swing, swatting him full in the side of the head with the flat of his blade, momentarily stunning the enemy. With that done, he lifted his blade to the sky, channeling his aether to the cursed sword.

“ **ROAR, TIZONA!”** his voice boomed across the battlefield, echoing from the rocks and trees nearby. **“AS A RAGING BULL!”**

He leaped, inverted his blade, and drove it nearly its full tang into the ground. Fiery aether exploded out of the ground at his behest, instantly annihilating the lesser magitek adversaries and knocking the roegadyn ass over teakettle. The flames lit the hydraulic fluid flowing from the vanguard’s severed shoulder joint alight.

Staggering to his feet, batting at some of the flaming fluid that had fallen on him, the roegadyn muttered to himself, “This can’t be happening... Not again!”

Looking up, the enemy commander saw Raubahn advancing on him, flames wreathing his sword, and saw Death itself coming to claim him. Determining himself to be on the wrong side of valor, the roegadyn turned tail and ran back up the path that would carry him back to the castrum as fast as he could. “He who fights and runs...” he began, glancing back to see if the Alliance forces were yet in pursuit or still tied up with the vanguard.

He hit what felt like a brick wall—this one answering to the name Thorvald Brighthammer—and fell back on his ass once more, looking up to see the Ala Mhigan flanked on both sides by a number of men and women in uniforms he didn’t recognize.

“Who in the hells are _you_ lot!?”

“For Ala Mhigo!” M’naago shot back, her words accompanied by an arrow that nearly took the roegadyn’s eye out.

“Let none escape!” Conrad ordered, a small staff in his right hand and a bayoneted pistol in his other.

Despite the heavily-outnumbered situation he found himself in, the roegadyn commander grinned. “You think you’ve won, eh?” He chuckled ominously, swiftly tapping commands into a device on the inside of his shield. “ _Then we go together!_ ”

The vanguard halted its attacks on Johnathan and Alisaie, raising itself fully upright as a canned mechanical voice emerged from it, _“Self-destruct sequence initiated. Destruction in sixty... fifty-nine... fifty-eight...”_

“Seven hells!” Raubahn swore, rushing in and joining the Scions in hammering the magitek weapon with his sword. “There’s no time to get clear! We must disable it before it blows!”

“Hit it with everything we’ve got!” Johnathan called in agreement, his sword alight with his personal aether as he hammered at the core of the weapon.

“Not so fast!” the imperial commander shouted, rushing back into the fray and swinging his warhammer at both swordsmen to keep them back.

Thorvald growled and turned back to the imperial reinforcements he’d been dueling with, raising his hammer in preparation for a finishing strike, when both imperial swordsmen dropped their weapons and threw their hands into the air. “No, don’t!” one of them exclaimed, the other immediately falling to his knees and cowering. “We surrender! We’ve no intent of dying by your hand or that thing going off!”

The Ala Mhigan didn’t stick around to listen to them, turning away and rushing back as soon as they disarmed themselves. Together with Sigrid, who took careful aim at the immobile weapon’s knee joint, the pair of highlanders kneecapped the weapon, knocking it to its back but not stopping its self-destruct sequence.

“ _Thirty...twenty-nine...twenty-eight...”_ the static-filled voice intoned.

Sigrid took to the sky, her landing driving her spear past its head into the central chassis of the vanguard. Tearing her weapon free, she tossed it aside and held both her hands toward the opening in its chest. A hazy black glow surrounded both her gauntleted hands and the edges of torn metal, and she wrenched her arms to either side. With a shriek of metal, the gouge in the chassis widened, exposing the core of the vanguard.

Thorvald jumped onto the still-burning shoulder of the vanguard, holding his magitek warhammer aloft to the heavens, sparks of static electricity arcing across its frame. Thunder rumbled in the distance as dark storm clouds immediately formed overhead. Sensing her moment, Rei flicked her fingers toward the highlander man, bestowing on him the damage-increasing effects of the _Balance_ card she’d been holding the last few minutes.

A bolt of lightning shot from the sky, engulfing the Ala Mhigan warrior and his warhammer in a blinding flash and deafening clap of thunder. In the midst of this storm of energy, Thorvald let the power wash over himself and his weapon, the electrical power supercharging his muscles and nerve endings rather than frying him to a crisp as it would a normal individual.

“ **WITNESS ME, RHALGR!”** Thorvald roared as he brought his hammer down on the exposed core of the vanguard, not only releasing all of the stored lightning but also triggering the magitek gun effect of the weapon.

The resultant backlash of power instantly vaporized the core, halting the self-destruct process and releasing a concussive shockwave that flattened all the combatants in a heartbeat, leaving only Thorvald standing on the crisped, blackened wreck of the vanguard. Looking about at the chaos, a pleased smirk crossed the highlander’s face as the last of the electricity bled out into the ambient air in static flickers from his fingers.

“No...” the imperial commander groaned, pulling himself up to his feet. “No, no, _no!_ My secret weapon!”

The others were soon on their feet, loosely surrounding the imperial commander as he continued to lament his wiped-out patrol.

“Damn it all! ‘Miracles of magitek design’ my arse! I’ve passed harder stools than these piles of scrap!” The roegadyn turned his gaze to Thorvald, who stared silently at him, warhammer resting on his shoulder, his eyes still carrying the silvered glow of electrical empowerment.

Despite taking a step back in trepidation at the sight, the enemy commander still attempted to talk tough. “You’ll pay for this!” he swore, pointing a finger at the highlander, and then dragging it around to the other Warriors of Light. “Mark my words! The next time we meet will be the last!”

With that, he turned and sprinted away at top speed, not even sparing a glimpse at his surviving men. The Resistance forces were happy to let him go; no story would spread without a man to tell the tale, after all.

“Aye, run and tell your viceroy!” Raubahn called after him, the mirth evident in his voice. “This day belongs to Ala Mhigo!”

Hefting his cursed sword aloft, the Flame General roared a cheer of victory to the sky. The other Alliance forces, the Scions, and the Resistance fighters were more than happy to lend their voices to the rallying cry. From the woods surrounding them, the other Alliance reinforcements echoed in a celebratory roar that shook the very heavens.

\---

“ _Very well fought, everyone,”_ Ren said. _“Another satisfying Team JNPR conclusion.”_

“Sorry you didn’t really get much to do,” Jaune said sheepishly, watching the closing cutscenes of the quest play out.

“ _I’m a healer, not a combat mage like Weiss is,”_ the Chinese-American replied. _“Full support roles are more to my liking. Besides, if everyone else is having fun, I’m having fun.”_

Nora hadn’t said anything since she’d pulled her ‘God of Thunder’ trick to conclude the role-played battle. She had, in fact, been giggling the entire time. She was _still_ giggling madly at her antics.

In fairness, she was also drunk.

“ _I’m a little disappointed that Raubahn’s limit break didn’t actually do anything,”_ Pyrrha admitted. She had been a fan of the Flame General since day one of them playing. _“I’d pulled the spiders away and didn’t get them back into the circle in time to see if he would down them.”_

“Yeah, that is a little weird that he didn’t even take out the two random enemy troops on the side that were dueling with our guys,” Jaune agreed.

“ _That’s why we’ve always encouraged you all to enhance the instances as you see fit when they’re role-played out, Mister Arc.”_

“ _And of course, we are indebted to you for allowing us our more...unusual excesses, Professor,”_ Pyrrha humbly stated. It was clear she was _mostly_ referring to Nora.

A chuckle answered her. _“We’re not in the business of stifling creativity at Beacon, Miss Nikos. As you are all Warriors of Light, it stands to reason that you should have strengths beyond the average person. And you have all demonstrated time and again that you can be trusted not to abuse the faith we’ve placed in you.”_

\---

It took little time for the dust to settle over the bridge in the East End, and Alliance forces to secure the battleground. A good amount of the friendly reinforcement group stood guard against further assault, allowing the remainder to police weapons and equipment from the fallen enemy and begin breaking down the remains of the prototype vanguard to be brought back to the castrum. Another squad had already left to escort the two imperial soldiers who had surrendered to the castrum. As this was going on, Raubahn gathered with the Scions and the Resistance forces.

“Well done, all of you,” he praised, looking about the small circle and ensuring he met eyes with everyone there. “I’d call this operation a resounding success.”

“It’s nothing to be surprised about,” Conrad said from Raubahn’s left. “The ‘Bull of Ala Mhigo’ had an impressive military record before he went west, as I recall.”

The Flame General shook his head, great horned helmet and all. “Nay, give credit where it’s due, Master Kemp,” he said. “’Twas Marshal Tarupin who made this plan, and all of you, Resistance and Alliance alike, who carried it out to perfection.”

Conrad nodded in agreement. “Aye, that they did. But a single casualty—and not even a long loss that one—for which I’m grateful beyond words. I’ve no doubt our comrades back at the Reach will feel the same.”

“As will ours, I assure you.”

The elder man offered his hand to Raubahn, who shook it enthusiastically. “It’s been a pleasure, General. Until the next battle.”

As Raubahn turned to leave with the Alliance forces, Conrad turned his attention to his own men. “Ladies and gentlemen, that was fought to perfection. My congratulations to everyone. Let’s head home, shall we?”

The four Warriors of Light shared a glance, deciding wordlessly to accompany the Resistance forces back to Rhalgr’s Reach and regroup with their sister team. Stepping forward, Johnathan called out, “Commander Kemp, with your leave, we’ll escort you and your men back to the Reach.”

Smiling, Conrad nodded at once. “We shall be pleased to have you.”

The larger group set out, M’naago hanging back to walk with the Scions. “I’d heard the stories, but to actually _see_ all of you in action...” She chuckled. “I almost found myself pitying the imperials. But no, seriously, it was truly inspirational. Would that I would have the fortune to see all eight of you take the field at once.”

“Usually that is reserved for when something has gone dreadfully, terribly wrong,” Rei deadpanned.

M’naago laughed loudly at the joke...only for her laughter to slowly die out as she realized the others weren’t laughing; indeed, they looked somewhat somber and mostly sheepish. “Oh, gods, I thought you were kidding...”

“Well... _mostly_ ,” Thorvald remarked.

“She’s not strictly _wrong_ , though,” Sigrid added.

For someone of M’naago’s tanned complexion, she went remarkably pale.

“It more or less always works out, though...” Johnathan attempted to save.

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach  
_ _Occupied by the Ala Mhigan Resistance_

 

“...You didn’t have to take part in the operation, none of you, but you did,” M’naago was saying as they strode across the sun-baked sands of the Resistance camp. “You all went above and beyond what was asked of you, without hesitation, and for that we owe you a debt.”

Johnathan found himself shaking his head again. “There is no debt owed,” he said. “The Scions in general and we Warriors of Light in particular have pledged to the alliance to liberate Ala Mhigo, and we’ll not suffer others to face the enemy in our stead.” He laid one hand each on the shoulders of Sigrid and Thorvald beside him. “Loyal sons and daughters of Ala Mhigo...” He nodded to Rei. “Those who have had everything taken from them by the Empire... And those who have sworn to stand beside them. An Arkwright never goes back on his word.”

“By word and deed, you do honor to your name, son,” Conrad said, patting Johnathan on the shoulder. “We shall certainly endeavor to stop impugning your honor with the suggestion that you act for favor, but know that you’ve our eternal gratitude.” He looked between the paladin and the astrologian. “The blood of Gyr Abania may not flow through your veins, but the two of you are forever as brothers and sisters to us. As are the ladies of your sister group.”

Rei gave Conrad a warm smile, and—unseen on account of Johnathan blocking the others’ view—took Thorvald’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Our victory may not count for much in practical terms,” the miqo’te scout continued, “but its symbolic value can’t be overstated. Alliance and Resistance fighters came together to face an imperial unit equipped with Garlemald’s newest weapons—and _smashed_ them. The people will long remember this day.”

“Aye, that they will,” Conrad agreed, a new strength and conviction in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “For it marks the beginning of something far greater than any single victory: the beginning of a campaign by a united Eorzea to drive the Garleans from our lands. Promises and platitudes mean naught without action. But the Alliance took the field and risked their lives for our cause.”

The old man paused as they reached the statue of Rhalgr, looking up at the imposing edifice. He chuckled. “To think that the last time Gridanian troops trod this soil was more than a century ago during the Autumn War,” he said. “And that was to defend against _our_ invasion, at that. Ours is a long and bloody history, to be sure, and it gives me heart to see that despite our acrimonious past, we can still come together for the sake of the future.”

“Well said, Commader!” M’naago cheered. “I intend to go from village to village and spread the word of our victory and the new alliance!” She turned to the Scions. “Alisaie, Johnathan, Sigrid, Thorvald, Rei, I can’t thank you enough for your assistance. The people will flock to our banners, my friends. Just you wait and see!”

The miqo’te took off toward the Peaks gateway while the others reached the tent, where they found Lyse and the other four Warriors of Light waiting for them. Bee raised an eyebrow at them as they drew near. “You guys seem like you’ve been busy...” she teased.

Johnathan gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a funny story...”

\---

“ _Oh, my God, what the fuck is going on?”_ Yang growled in irritation. _“I’ve been in a black loading screen for like five mi— Fuck, 90k.”_

“Yeah, it happened to us too when we were trying to run that quest,” Jaune said, trying to convey his sympathy for the other blonde. “All that early access traffic.”

“ _...Fuck, there’s like three thousand people ahead of me in queue,”_ Yang grumbled.

“ _I don’t expect this to happen right now...”_ Weiss said, the tension in her voice painting a vivid picture in Jaune’s mind of her rubbing her temples in frustration.

“ _Maybe we should take a break,”_ Blake suggested. _“We’ve been at this for a couple hours now. I’m pretty sure I see daylight out my window.”_

“ _That’s probably a good idea,”_ Ruby agreed. _“We could nap for a few hours, or six, come back fresh, try again. Might not be as many people on in the middle of the day, even though it’s summer.”_

Yang let out a long sigh, then said, _“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good with that. Let’s do it.”_

“ _A rest might do us some good, as well,”_ Pyrrha noted.

Jaune chuckled. “If we can get Nora to sleep.”

“ _I’ll tie her to her bed,”_ Ren deadpanned.

“ _Whoa, kinky!”_ Yang laughed.

“ _That sounds like fun to me!”_ Nora exclaimed, her volume control completely gone.

“ _Right then,”_ Ruby said, pointedly ignoring the silliness of drunk Nora. _“We’ll see you guys in the morning...err....later on.”_

“Night, guys!” Jaune called.

“ _Good night, everyone,”_ Pyrrha sing-songed.

“ _Guten Nacht, meine Freunden,”_ Weiss said in her usual manner.

“ _Good night,”_ Blake said simply.

“ _Night, y’all!”_ Yang yawned.

\---

 _With all pretenses cast aside, the world now holds its breath in anticipation following the first battle in the renewed war with the Garlean Empire. As the Eorzean Alliance readies its forces for the next battle, the Warriors of Light aid the Resistance and Alliance forces in small but meaningful ways. But in the palace of Ala Mhigo, however, the imperial viceroy begins plotting his countermove..._  


_Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Chapter 5: **Where Men Go As One**._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hear and see Chris Hemsworth in your head whenever Thorvald speaks or acts, you are 100% correct; that is 1:1 how Nora plays her character.
> 
> As a humorous anecdote I couldn’t leave out, I want to mention that when I wrote the scene where JNPR was discussing their ‘Get Help’ gambit, the line wherein Pyrrha tried to act as mediator between Nora and Ren, the word ‘matchmaker’ came out of my fingers on its own instead of ‘mediator’. Truly, the Renora shipping is strong with me.
> 
> It’s very hard to strike a balance between the way the game presents events and the much smarter way to realistically go about them. The Raubahn EX ambush vexes me. Who just runs out in front of the enemy and calls it an ambush? We know that there are such things as victim-initiated explosives in this game. Honestly, the plan should’ve started, “Once the lead element has triggered the claymores...”
> 
> I realized after the fact last chapter that I forgot to do one of my usual "next time" blurbs. But it works out, because I was wanting to change up to a GundamW-inspired one that is easier for me since I don't have to pre-plan my chapters to pick out quotes.
> 
> Little bit of a breather chapter coming up, but historically those kinds have always been the worst for me to stay focused and finish on...


	7. Where Men Go As One

Yang wasn’t entirely sure what time it was when she finally awoke, but for someone whose life revolved around precise timing in getting up, ready, and out the door to be on time for work or school, the freedom to not even bother looking at her clock was something she relished. All she knew about the current time was the fact that sunlight was streaming through her curtains and she had a fuzzy footwarmer curled up at the end of her bed.

She stretched languidly, then dragged her covers off her and pushed away the body pillow tucked under her right side. Awakened by her movement, the family dog barked happily and jumped down to the floor, turning around in a circle once before plopping his fuzzy butt on the ground near the head of her bed.

“Mornin’, Zwei,” she greeted, reaching down and petting his head.

The black-and-white corgi barked enthusiastically, rubbing his head against her hand. His unrestricted volume level told her that Ruby was already awake; Zwei was well-trained to keep his volume down if people weren’t up.

“Go see Ruby!” she said in that high-pitched, childish tone of voice people tended to reserve for small children and pets.

After claiming one last head rub as payment for his cooperation, Zwei let out another bark and darted out of the room. She heard Ruby’s laughter from the kitchen, but ignored her sister’s words as she turned her gaze to her nightstand. Sitting there benignly in its charging station alongside her charging phone and her alarm clock, a black-and-yellow-painted right arm prosthetic waited silently for her. The indicators on the base of the stand indicated it was fully charged.

She stared at it for several seconds, the cheerfully-colored reminder of her weakness, and felt a faint burning sensation at the end of her natural arm, covered by a coupling cap that mated with the prosthetic.

“Maximum effort...” she sighed, sitting up on her bed and grabbing the prosthetic.

Lifting it into place on the coupling, she slowly and carefully rotated it away from her until the magnetic latches audibly clicked into place. Immediately, neuroelectrical signals flowed back and forth from the limb, illuminating a subdued light just under the shaped metal plate that made up the bottom of her thumb to indicate a successful synchronization. The incoming signals prompted a tingle in her ‘arm’ as it synced to her brain, as though her entire arm had fallen asleep. After a few moments, the sensation went away, save for a persistent tingle in her pinky finger lasting for a scant few seconds more.

She flexed her fingers, opening and then closing a fist, then turned her arm over, palm-up, and repeated the process. With her free hand, she picked up her Bluetooth earpiece and placed it in her left ear. Rotating her arm in and out of a chicken wing posture, she continued to run the device through the normal range of human motion, satisfied that it was functioning properly.

On cue, her silenced cell phone lit up on her nightstand. She glanced at the time displayed on the lit face—just before noon—then stood up and tapped the earpiece with her left hand. “Yellooooo...” she greeted, standing up and heading out of her bedroom.

“ _Sal-u-tations, Miss Xiao Long!”_ the inimitable voice of Penny Polendina—the technician charged with monitoring her advanced prosthetic—came through her earpiece. _“We have registered your prosthetic activating. Have you had any issues this morning?”_

Yang looked down at her hand, wiggling her pinky finger and finding it responding normally. “Had a little bit of an extra tingle in the pinky when it was linking in,” she said, “but other than that everything’s fine.”

“ _Hmm...”_ the young woman on the other end intoned. _“Looking at the data, it appears to be a simple transmission lag. It may indicate wear of the wiring, but it’s too certain to be sure. Or it could have merely been a simple hiccup in data transfer. We’ll keep an eye on it, so please let us know if you have any further problems with that, or any others.”_

“Yeah, it’s working fine, now,” Yang affirmed, wandering into the kitchen. She waved to Ruby, who enthusiastically returned it, and went to get a bowl from the cabinets. “So are the servers any better now?”

“ _I am not supposed to use business calls for personal matters, Miss Xiao Long,”_ Penny admonished lightly, which Ruby overheard if the giggles were indicative. There was a slight pause. _“...But Square-Enix has allocated several additional data clusters in an effort to ease congestion.”_

Yang grinned as she grabbed her bag of off-brand cereal from the pantry and began pouring herself a bowl. “Hopefully that helps, some. Me and Ruby will be on in a few.”

“ _I shall inform the others,”_ Penny said. _“In the meantime, I am pleased to report that your prosthetic is functioning well within parameters and our data monitoring is reporting no issues. Have a good day, Miss Xiao Long!”_

“Thanks for all the help, Penny,” Yang answered. “See you in game in a bit.”

“ _Goodbye!”_

The line clicked as it disconnected, and the blonde reached up to turn off the headset.

“Everything okay?” Ruby asked, pulling her fresh pop-tarts from the toaster and getting them onto a folded napkin as fast as she could, lest she burn her fingers.

“Yeah, all good.” Yang lifted her hand and clenched it into a fist to demonstrate her point. Returning the milk to the refrigerator, she grabbed the carton of orange juice to pour herself a glass—and nearly dropped it when she was caught off-guard upon turning around by a hug from Ruby. “Whoa, careful,” she laughed, setting the carton down on the counter to return her sister’s hug.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you,” the younger woman apologized, squeezing Yang one last time before stepping back, and picking up her breakfast.

“No worries,” the blonde replied, grabbing a cup out of the cabinet and pouring her drink. After returning the carton to the fridge, she grabbed her loot and nodded back down the hall. “Let’s get to it!”

The sisters retreated to their respective rooms.

Setting her bowl and cup down on her desk to the right of her computer, Yang turned her computer on and dropped into her chair. She picked up her headset while brushing back her hair with her right hand, ensuring that her long locks wouldn’t interfere with her ability to communicate. By the time she was done with that, her computer had already booted up—that pair of solid-state drives was the best purchase for herself and Ruby she’d ever made—and sat at the login screen.

She keyed in her password and sat back to eat some of her cereal as she waited for Discord to load. Her gaze tracked idly across the assortment of knickknacks and collectible items she decorated her desk with as she waited. One item in particular drew her eye, as it always did.

Hanging to the left of her desk was a framed photo of half a dozen people wearing desert camouflage fatigues, gathered around a heavily-armored military transport. A brief smile came to her lips as she recalled fond memories, but it didn’t take long for the bad to follow. Balancing her cereal bowl in her left hand, she rested her right on her leg and clenched and unclenched a fist several times.

Forcing herself back to the present, she turned her attention to her screens. As expected, the Discord server was largely empty of their regulars, most of them likely having gone to bed hours later than them and unlikely to be back before the evening. According to the general channel’s text logs, there had been a lot of rage and griping about the Raubahn EX issue. To her dismay, she saw that there was talk about a _Pipin_ EX not very far beyond the Raubahn instance.

She clicked to enter the general voice channel, joining Ruby, Weiss, and Roman. “So now there’s _two_ chokepoints?” she asked.

“ _Yep,”_ Roman answered, sighing dramatically. _“Hardly six quests after Raubahn, his little mini-me gives us the same troubles. Took a couple hours getting through that.”_

Yang laughed facetiously as she booted up and logged into _Final Fantasy_. “Oh. That’s great. Well, looks like that’s what our afternoon is going to consist of.”

“ _Indeed,”_ Weiss said with forced calmness. _“Come, Yang, join us in the login queues.”_

“Oh, not that ag—” Just then, the character selection screen kicked back into place with a notification of a queue of 3,812 people ahead of her. “ _Damn_ , that’s mean. What’re you at, Ice Queen?”

There was a delay just long enough for Weiss to get across her exasperation with that nickname, then she answered, _“1,406. But I’ve been on for half an hour.”_

“ _I mean, it’s not as bad as it_ could _be,”_ Ruby pointed out, ever the voice of optimism. _“It’s not as bad as it was last night when we first tried to get past the Great Wall of Raubahn.”_

Roman snickered. _“I like that, Little Red. So you_ do _have a Xiao Long side after all.”_

“Have you _looked_ at her lately?” Yang remarked, a shit-eating grin growing across her face. “Weiss’s patience is getting rewarded, if you know what I mean. Let’s just say the little Rose is in full bloom!”

Roman burst out laughing, his noise obscuring Ruby’s embarrassed whines and the sputtering sound Weiss was making. “Don’t breathe the coffee, Weiss!” Yang joked, only making matters worse on all fronts.

“ _...What the hell did I walk in on?”_ Blake deadpanned over the noise.

“ _Blake, Yang’s embarrassing me again!”_ Ruby seized on her opportunity to even the odds in the War of the Sisters.

“ _And she’s low-key trying to kill Weiss,”_ Roman added.

“ _So nothing out of the ordinary,”_ Blake remarked. _“Yang.”_

“My love?” the blonde replied in a sing-song, pouring all the sweetness into her voice she could muster.

“ _Behave.”_

“Ehhhhhh.... no promises.”

“ _So is it still backed up today?”_ Blake asked.

“ _A little better because of the time of day,”_ Roman answered. _“But yes.”_

“ _Fabulous. So, Cards in the meantime?”_

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Yang grinned, already bringing up the website.

\---

_After two hours of login queues, disconnect errors, and load screens, Team RWBY finally battled their way past Raubahn EX, and could resume their role-played narrative..._

\---

 _Royal Palace, Ala Mhigo, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by XIIth Imperial Legion of the Garlean Empire_

 

_Beyond majestic mountains, across the emerald dale_

 

Garlean banners fluttered in the wind of nearly every face of the Ala Mhigan palace, the entire facility gleaming as though it were just built. Three imperial airships drifted through the skies over the palace: the red-painted battlecruiser that was the imperial viceroy’s personal vessel, and two smaller escort cruisers in standard grey. The ships banked in formation toward the airship landing pad at the highest parapet, settling on their landing struts.

 

_On march the ivory standard, united we prevail_

 

The whole of the palace garrison was out on the battlement that lead away from the parapet, turning the entire place into an impromptu parade field. Arranged in two inward-facing rows, ranked three deep, perfectly aligned and dressed back, nearly a thousand imperial soldiers stood at immobile attention, their arms raised across their chests in textbook imperial salutes. Nary a seam out of place, not a piece of metal unpolished, each soldier stood unmoving as though in anticipation of an inspection that might determine their life or death.

 

_From distant shores of Othard, to lakes of Aldenard,_

 

But there was to be no inspection, as their commander had no time for such frivolous affairs. Freshly returned from the imperial capital, marching at the head of a formation of the four highest-ranked soldiers of the legion and their personal cohorts, Imperial Legate Zenos yae Galvus, first son of Emperor Varis zos Galvus, paid no heed to his soldiers as they sweltered in the Ala Mhigan heat, his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

Standing head and shoulders above all around him—even without his ornamental helmet—at nearly eight fulms tall, Zenos wore the imposing full-body armor common to imperial legates, with his painted a burnished royal red-violet. A hip-cloak comprised of pelts of over a dozen different beasts wrapped his waist, held in place by a vibrant crimson sash. Hanging from his left hip, upon which his arm rested, was a large magitek scabbard holding the hilts of three different blades. Spikes not unlike those on Ishgardian dragoon armor adorned the large, jutting shoulder plates of his armor. Like other legates, his full-face helm resembled a skull, with two large horns rising from either side of the helm and sweeping up a fulm above his head, centering a silvered representation of the dreadwyrm Bahamut between them. Unusually, two long forelocks of blond hair draped out of his helmet, trailing down over the wide chest of his armor.

 

_The light of mighty Garlemald, fore’er our guiding star_

\---

Once in the throne room, Zenos took his seat in the throne of the Mad King, a huge Garlean banner draped behind the throne. His scabbard resting on a stand to the left of his seat, his helmet set upon the armrest, he draped himself boredly in the marbled throne, resting his chin on his armored right hand and crossing his legs as his commanders took their positions at the foot of the throne. At an idle gesture from him, his second-in-command, his _tribunus militum_ , began his report.

“Alliance forces have occupied Castrum Oriens and taken up positions along the length of the Wall. It is unconfirmed at this time, but we also believe they have established defense-in-depth within the East End. Our patrols have engaged their reconnaissance parties on sight, but there have been no significant exchanges...”

There was a pause, and Zenos saw the man tense, clearly bracing himself for the delivery of bad news.

“...Save one. A unit tasked with field-testing prototype magitek weapons was attacked. The weapons were destroyed, with the unit sustaining near-total casualties.”

At this, Zenos raised an eyebrow. “... _Near_ total?” he queried, though his tone of boredom had not shifted. “Go on.”

His second looked back into the assembled ranks, at which point a _pilus prior_ stepped forward and saluted. “My lord, there was but a single survivor from the unit in question,” the man explained, “which falls under my command. The survivor reports that he _believes_ several men were taken prisoner, but as he fled, this cannot be confirmed. According to his report, they were ambushed by a large contingent of Eorzean Alliance regulars, abetted by adventurer militia and Resistance insurgents.”

Zenos took in the news, humming thoughtfully. “A simple ambush, only one survivor, and probable prisoners. Doubtless they’ve also made off with the remains of our weapons. A fine day’s work for our foe.” He paused for a moment, considering, then narrowed icy blue eyes of a shade typically associated with madmen. “The stubbornness to survive is not without worth... Your survivor may live. However, the Twelfth is no place for the weak.”

“He shall be relegated at once, my lord!” the _pilus prior_ replied.

There was relief evident in his tone, and Zenos suspected it was at escaping punishment. _Not_ a good sign...

“As you say,” the man prattled on, “the Twelfth is no place for cowards who count their lives more precious than the cause.”

The Emperor’s son had to resist the sudden and overpowering urge to sigh in vexation. How, he wondered, had such a tactically-inept man achieved such rank in his legion? Well, there was certainly a solution to that...

“Indeed, indeed,” Zenos agreed with the man, eyes narrowed once more. “We have no need of cowards...”

Slowly, his every motion demonstrating his utter disappointment, Zenos stood from his throne, turning to the magitek scabbard and drawing one of his blades. It, like the other two, was fashioned in the style of those wielded by the _samurai_ of the fallen province of Doma. He _liked_ those fatally-determined little rats, how they threw themselves on his blade en masse, concerned not for their own safety but only with their honor in death: either his or theirs. Theirs, to be certain, by and large. But he liked their spirit, and honored them in his own way, by wielding blades of their style.

Sword in hand, he strode forward slowly into the ranks of his officers, noting with disappointment that the one reporting flinched back at his approach. _Such_ a disappointment, he contemplated to himself as he stopped directly before the man.

The officer took one step back, drawing Zenos’ gaze to his feet. _Then he took another_.

“M-my lord, I—”

Zenos did not suffer the man to finish. In a swift act, he raised his sword over his head and struck the man down in a single blow. As the man collapsed to the floor, the legate flicked his wrist in a flourished motion he had seen the Doman _samurai_ use to cleanse their blades of blood. To his satisfaction, however, there was not a drop of the life-sustaining fluid to fly from his sword. His cut had been so swift, so clean, that the man did not begin to bleed until his corpse had stilled on the floor.

“Cowards who defer critical missions to their subordinates,” Zenos spat, his example for the other officers, not this fallen wretch. “Who hide within their _castra_ , never meeting their prey in battle, never staring into the whites of their eyes.”

Lifting his gaze, he swept it across his other officers, only then noticing that one of the native Ala Mhigans, the commander of that little partisan group, was in attendance. “Why,” he asked, lifting his free hand, “when confronted with a heretofore unknown _eikon_ , did we surrender the Wall to the Alliance? Because my honored father, in his _infinite wisdom—_ ” And here, no one mistook the sarcasm that dripped from his words, “has not seen fit to grant us leave to march on their lands.”

He growled, “ _Accordingly_ , we have extended an invitation to our neighbors. Gyr Abania is where we shall host them—the field upon which we shall enjoy the sport of kings.”

His gaze wandered, and none of the officers doubted that he was far away in his mind palace, enjoying the prospect of his ‘sport’ in his mind’s eye. “Patience is paramount,” he said quietly. “Cornered animals may have spirit, but they are ultimately predictable, and very poor sport.” A cruel smile crossed his face. “But if one dangles the promise of freedom before them, while nipping at their heels to stoke their passion, then things become interesting... It is a delicate dance, and one which asks much of my hounds.”

He looked about at his officers once more. “And so I put the question to you, my fellow huntsmen: how shall we deal with these savages?”

For several long, disappointing moments, silence and stillness greeted his question. He allowed it to linger on several more, his eyes pointedly falling on every officer present as he deliberated how long it would take to train up new replacements...

And then, to his utter surprise and unexpected amusement, it was the _native woman_ who stepped forward and saluted. “I have a proposal, my lord!” she proclaimed.

Having suddenly found his spine once more, his second thrust a finger at the woman as though it were a gunblade. “ _Silence_ , Ala Mhigan!” he hissed. “You do forget yourself! Only by the grace of Lord van Baelsar were you afforded a place here—and that in name alone! We have no need of your ‘proposals’, savage!”

Without moving his gaze from where it was fixed on the native woman—who, he noted with satisfaction, looked as though she’d love to filet his second where he stood—Zenos touched the tip of his blade to the man’s chin, silencing and stilling him instantly. “Where, then,” he demanded, “is _your_ proposal, _tribunus_?”

Lowering his arm, Zenos calmly strolled down the ranks of his officers, querying aloud, “Of _all_ of my highest officers, can not the whole lot of you scrape together a tactic that would suit my needs? Can not even _one_ of you summon the courage to suggest one?”

He stopped before the native woman, who now looked up at him from where his second’s rebuke had lowered her head. The fire, the _hatred_ , in her eyes, pleased him. “This ‘savage’ yearns to hunt her own,” he told his other officers. “And so she shall.”

Stepping back, he gestured graciously with both arms in a mock bow. “The floor is yours, Commander Fordola rem Lupis.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she saluted.

With a hungry smile, she began to outline her strategy.

Soon, Zenos too found himself smiling.

\---

“We’re doomed,” Yang pronounced heavily.

“ _What makes you say that?”_ Blake asked.

“Unspoken Plan Guarantee,” the blonde said simply, as though expecting that to explain everything. In her defense, Blake, at least, knew what she meant.

“ _What is_ that _?”_ Weiss asked.

“It’s that thing in movies and whatnot where you don’t _hear_ the plan, which pretty much guarantees its success,” Yang explained.

“ _I don’t... That’s not a thing,”_ the German woman rebutted, actually surprised for once that Yang had a concise and clear answer to one of her questions.

“ _No, it totally is!”_ Ruby chipped in. _“Remember, in_ Zootopia _, when Nick and Judy had that plan to get Miss Bellweather to incriminate herself? They never talked about it, and it worked_ flawlessly _.”_

There was silence for several moments as Weiss thought about it. _“That_ is _true... I suppose you’re right.”_

Yang gasped loudly. “Sis, call an ambulance, I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“ _I’ll alert the press,”_ Blake deadpanned.

“ _Hah, hah,”_ Weiss grumbled.

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by Joint Forces of the Ala Mhigan Resistance/Eorzean Alliance_

 

“Owing to the efforts of you all,” Conrad told the recently recombined full party of the Warriors of Light, and Lyse and Alisaie, “we have accomplished a great deal in a short time. The Resistance thanks you for your service, Scions.”

“It’s been an enlightening experience for us all, Master Kemp,” Sigrid replied, inclining her head toward the older man. “We’re all happy to do our part.”

“Especially when that part is cracking Garlean heads,” Bee added with a grin, slamming her fists together. Most of the group rolled their eyes at her behavior, Blanchette scoffed, Masya elbowed her, but Thorvald reached behind Johnathan to fist-bump the roegadyn warrior.

“I see operations here have been proceeding apace in my absence,” the voice of Alphinaud called from outside the command tent.

The group looked back to see the blue-garbed young elezen approaching at the head of a group of varied-attired adventurers, all of them recognizable as known members of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. At the front was a tall highlander with white warpaint on his face, clad in highly-polished wootz armor. Directly behind Alphinaud stood a blond male miqo’te wearing wolfram armor, and bringing up the rear was a female miqo’te whose color theming, from her hair to her tortoiseshell scale armor, was red.

“Welcome back, Brother dearest,” Alisaie warmly greeted her twin. “I see that your efforts to gather new recruits were successful.”

“Indeed,” Alphinaud nodded. “There were several amongst the Scions’ ranks that were quite eager to take part in our joint endeavor with the Resistance, whom I am come to present.”

Taking his cue, the highlander stepped forward and stood tall and straight. “Commander Kemp, if I may!” he said, clearing his throat. It was obvious the man was all nerves. “My name... my name is Arenvald Lentius. A...a half-breed, as you can doubtless tell. I’ve come to fight for a free Ala Mhigo. For an Ala Mhigo where women like my mother are never made to suffer. I pray you grant me this honor.”

Arenvald bowed, and there was silence for a few moments as Conrad sized up the man before him: the shape of his face, the fact that he carefully concealed his forehead with both war paint and the cut of his hair. The elder Ala Mhigan could guess the man’s story right away.

“You are a trueborn son of Gyr Abania,” he said at last. “Same as me. This is not my honor to grant, but yours to freely take. Welcome, brother. With our swelling ranks, and the aid of the Eorzean Alliance and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, I believe we will soon be in a position to seize the initiative.”

He took a moment to gaze out past them, looking over the Resistance camp. Finally, he said, “Once our new recruits have received sufficient training, I will propose to General Aldynn that we draw up plans for an assault on Castellum Velodyna. So in the meantime, we’ll make what preparations we can.”

“Mayhap we could assist you with said preparations,” Alphinaud offered. “After all, we are here to help.” He looked between his sister, Lyse, and the Warriors of Light. “The ten of you have been quite busy, I’m to understand, so I will not begrudge you the rest should you require it. If _not_ , however, it would seem sensible to assist our allies with their preparations.”

Rurumi looked between her group, and seeing that none of them looked of a mind to argue, replied, “The day’s still young, we might as well be of use.”

Johnathan nodded in agreement. “After that rousing workout against that patrol and weapon, a bit of light work around here sounds just the thing for a cooldown.”

Conrad chuckled. “Well, we’d be grateful for any and all help you can offer. If you ask around, I guarantee you won’t want for work.”

“We will do just that,” Alphinaud said, offering a bow to Conrad. He then turned to the Warriors of Light. “Well, my friends, shall we make ourselves busy?”

As the young elezen set off to find any he could aid among the soldiers and merchants, Johnathan paused a moment to take in the deceptively-peaceful scene of the Reach before them. “If you guys don’t mind,” he said, “we’ll head back to Castrum Oriens to see if General Aldynn needs any assistance there.”

“Established a bit of a rapport with the Flame General, have we?” Bee teased, slapping the paladin on the shoulder.

“Oh, you should have seen what we did to that magitek prototype,” Thorvald replied with a hearty laugh.

“I have my doubts that there is need for all of us to remain here,” Rei added, her gaze taking in the encampment as Johnathan did. “It would be just as well for us to remain at the Wall as a reactionary force.”

Rurumi nodded her head in agreement. “That’s a good idea,” she agreed. “We’ll meet back there with you guys later on.”

The four of their sister team departed, whistling their chocobos to them on the walk. Before the other four could move out, however, a voice called out to them from nearby, “Excuse me, ladies!”

They looked to find an older Resistance soldier, his face creased with wrinkles from years in the sun. Masya was the first to notice that he held a tome and quill tucked under one arm. “I would hate to be a bother to four of the famous ladies who bested Gaius van Baelsar, but did I hear correctly in that you are looking to offer your assistance?”

“That’s right,” Masya answered coolly.

The soldier chuckled and set his leather-bound book down on the seat—really a wooden crate with a flat piece of wood across the top—beside him. “I say, this is highly irregular...though I have heard it said you all had a penchant for aiding the common man. In which case...”

Clearing his throat, the man stepped forward and offered his hand to each one of them in turn. “Oh, forgive my lack of manners,” he said as he shook their hands. “My name is Beves. Before the occupation, I was a humble historian. While my duties here leave me scarce time for aught else, I think it important that these momentous events be recorded for the benefit of future generations.”

Masya’s eyes lit up at the man’s words, and three smiles adorned the others’ faces as they knew that their miqo’te comrade had met a kindred spirit.

“Primary sources are indispensable,” Beves continued to explain, “and I had a mind to question a number of my fellow freedom fighters—ask them their motivations for taking up this cause and so forth.” He stepped back to retrieve his journal. “If you’re of a mind to help, you may take down their statements in this log.”

The dark-haired ninja stepped forward eagerly and accepted the log. “I would gladly aid you,” she said. “As you say, the words of those who shed their blood are the greatest source of history to be found.”

Beves smiled. “Thank you, Masya,” he said, and really none of them were surprised that he knew their names. “All of you. Thank you for your service. Now and ever after.”

Turning back to face her comrades, Masya looked at the book in her hand, then shrugged. “If you want, I can handle this on my own,” she offered.

“The last thing we’d want is to come between you and history,” Rurumi joked, nodding to her comrade. “I doubt we’ll be hard to find.”

Now reduced by one, Bee, Blanchette, and Rurumi headed down the slight incline into the greater part of the camp. They headed first to where many of the merchants were gathered, where Blanchette planned to take a few moments to consult with the assorted sutlers.

“Knowing her, she’s apt to question everyone in the entire encampment,” the elezen woman accurately spoke of their bibliophile comrade. “Not that it’s a bad thing; the history of this campaign will be all the richer for it.”

“If we left her to be in charge of it, she’d have every last bell documented down to the tick,” Bee agreed, pausing with their shortest companion by a campfire and gesturing toward the sutlers. “Well, Ice Queen, go be scary and Ishgardian.”

Rurumi giggled and Blanchette rolled her eyes, but nonetheless advanced forward to speak to the sutlers. The two half-sisters shared a glance, then the shorter woman shrugged. “So there’s probably someone around here who needs our help, right?” she queried.

Before Bee could reply, the woman on the other side of the fire from them looked up. “You want to help, do you?”

Another look passed between the roegadyn and the lalafell, an unspoken message of _how convenient_ conveyed within.

Taking their look and silence for agreement, the woman gestured to the cookpot hanging above the fire. “Seeing as how I’m in no position to leave the stewpot unattended, could you go and ask Tebbe for a variety of herbs? Six sprigs or so of whatever he’s got on hand should suffice.”

Giving a happy little hop and a wave of her arm, Rurumi said, “I can do that! Where can I find this Tebbe fellow?”

The woman jerked her head back in the direction they’d come. “He’s got himself a little alcove by Commander Kemp’s war tent where he keeps all his supplies sequestered away,” she said.

“Got it!” Rurumi exclaimed, already headed off and waving back over her shoulder. “I’ll be back!”

Watching her go a moment, the woman shook her head with a low chuckle and stirred the contents of her pot. “Little ball of happiness and sunshine, isn’t she?” she asked Bee.

“Oh, you have no idea,” the roegadyn woman responded with a chuckle of her own.

“Where’s she off to?” Blanchette asked from behind her.

Spinning around to hide her surprise at the fact that Blanchette, of all people, had snuck up on her, Bee tipped her head to the woman across the fire. “Gone off to get some greens for the lady’s stew. How’d the merchant talk go?”

“Fine,” the elezen woman answered as the pair set off once more across the Reach. “All of these are local Gyr Abanian merchants. It’s been incredibly difficult for Eorzean merchants to get across, but now that we control the Wall, we’ll be able to bring trade here.”

“Won’t most people who try to barter here be all but taking a loss in selling to the Resistance?” Bee asked, keeping a lookout for anyone who seemed to be vexed over anything. “It’s not like they’re sitting on a lot of capital.”

Blanchette nodded. “You’re not wrong. Especially in these early stages, before we’ve demonstrated that we have credible odds of driving out the Garleans, most merchant companies will be too frightened of losing what little investment they can make.”

“Even the SDC,” Bee innocently pointed out.

“ _Especially_ the SDC,” the Ishgardian woman hissed in agreement. “Fortunately, there is profit to be made in working with the Eorzean Alliance, so my father is not unwilling to move supplies to Gyr Abania, but he won’t be willing to take a loss selling directly to the Resistance. I’ll have to take matters into my own hands in that regard.”

Bee raised an eyebrow, curious at this deviousness on her friend’s part. “Oh?”

Blanchette smirked back at the roegadyn. “I’ve got a plan,” she said, and elaborated no further.

\---

Yang laughed. “Weiss, are you not telling me your plan because of that stuff we talked about a minute ago?”

“ _No. Well, maybe. It_ certainly _isn’t because I haven’t actually thought up this plan yet.”_

“ _We’ll corrupt her yet,”_ Blake joked.

\---

“Damn it all!” the two ladies heard shouted as they drew near the Starfall bridge. “Where could it have got to!?”

They both looked over to find a roegadyn Resistance fighter frantically scanning the riverbanks. Bee patted her slighter comrade on the shoulder. “I’ve got this.”

Nodding, Blanchette stepped onto the bridge as Bee passed behind her, approaching the Resistance fighter. Just as she reached the center of the bridge, she faintly heard Bee behind her, greeting the man: “Hey, buddy, you look like you could use some help...”

As she crossed the center of the bridge, she spotted one of the snakefolk, an Ananta, standing—well, one couldn’t really say they _stood_ like most folk, but there really was no other descriptor—by a pile of rocks, looking about as though waiting for something. She quickly approached the slender, serpentine woman.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to need some assistance,” Blanchette said. “Is there anything I might be able to help you with?”

The snake-woman turned and looked down on her, but only in the strictly physical sense; something about her seemed that she judged people on their abilities, and treated everyone equally before then. “I _do_ have sssomething I need aid with,” she said in her hissing speech. “I train men and women for battle here, and was told to expect new recruitsss thisss eve, yet nary a one has come. Perhapsss they were given the wrong time or location. I do not know. They number five in all, these would-be warriors. Sssend them unto me, should you chance to find them.”

Taking a moment before replying, Blanchette looked around at the dozens of visible Resistance fighters in sight. They all wore identical uniforms that made telling apart their individual vocations impossible. “I would be glad to aid you,” she told the Ananta, “but how would I know these recruits from veteran fighters?”

“Ah, my apologies,” the snake-woman responded, bowing to the elezen. “I did not ssstop to think that you were not one of usss. You can identify them by the white ssstripe of paint on their hoodsss. Among the Resissstance, that marking indicatesss one has not yet been bloodied in battle.”

The white-haired woman smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “I was unaware of such a custom, but it should help me find the recruits for you in a short amount of time.”

With that, she headed off and began to ask around the camp for any recruits that had been seen recently. The chocobo trainer nearby pointed her toward the temple complex just to the northwest, and so she headed in that direction.

Stepping through a destroyed outer wall, she found herself passing through an empty room with a missing far wall that lead into a cave. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was entering what had once been a tomb for the temple, that now served as a graveyard for the Resistance. She saw a soldier standing over a recent grave within, a white vertical stripe on the back of his hood giving him away as a new recruit. Before she entered the chamber, however, she paused and lowered her head, offering a prayer to Halone for the fallen within.

The man lifted his head at her footfalls, turning slowly to face her and only looking mildly surprised to see she was an outsider. “I’m late for training, I know,” he said, predicting why she had come quite well. “I had to say a prayer for my sister first. After what the imperials did to her, death was a mercy...”

Blanchette felt her throat thicken in equal parts grief and rage. Summoning up her best impersonation of Bee—the ‘Team Mom’ if there ever was one—she hesitantly reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “You need not apologize for that,” she offered. “Everyone will understand.”

Offering a smile, the man nodded and left the graveyard. Giving him his space, Blanchette took a moment to walk around to each memorial, checking that the lamps set to burn in front of them had sufficient oil, and offering a brief prayer at each one.

There were a depressingly-large number of memorials within the chamber...

Leaving the graveyard nearly a quarter of a bell later, she continued to ask around for the other four recruits, getting a fairly accurate idea of where they all were. The next one she decided to seek out was down by the entrance to the Reach, along the banks of the Upper Mirage Creek.

As she’d been told, she found there another of the white-marked recruits shadow-boxing in a way that made her think of Bee. She approached wide, wary of startling someone in such a routine. “Pardon me,” she called out louder than normal, ensuring she could get his attention. “I’ve been sent to inform you that you’re needed to report to your training.”

Having dropped his routine the moment she’d spoken out to him, he took a step back in surprise, then looked up at the midday sky to judge the time. “Training?” He blinked. “Damn! I was so busy practicing to impress the others that I completely forgot. Thank you!”

With a wave of thanks to the elezen, he took off sprinting in the direction of the Ananta battlemaiden.

Blanchette chuckled as she watched him go, revising her opinion that he was more akin to Rurumi than he was to Bee, and started for the aetheryte plaza. Her queries had informed her that another recruit was lurking nearby that area.

Just before the spinning crystal structure, she found another Resistance fighter with the tell-tale white vertical stripe on his hood standing in an alcove, seemingly lost in thought. She cleared her throat as she stopped beside him. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she said, “but you’re a little late for your training.”

The man looked up and regarded her for a second, then nodded. “Ah, a thousand pardons,” he said. “So preoccupied was I by the question of whether Ala Mhigo should be a monarchy or republic that I neglected to attend my training.”

 _That_ was certainly not anywhere on the list of excuses she expected to hear as to why any of these recruits were lagging behind. Her shock clearly showed on her face, for the recruit gave a rueful smile.

“How silly, I know,” he said. “Until we drive the imperials from our lands, the question is moot. Regardless, thank you for the reminder. Good day, m’lady.”

With a bow, the man calmly turned and walked toward the training area. As for the Ishgardian woman, she returned to the area where the sutlers were; not only had her queries informed her that a recruit was hanging around there, but she also recalled seeing the white paint on a hood earlier when she had been there with Bee and Rurumi, and wondering what it was about.

As she recalled and had been told, there was yet another recruit standing beside the woman at the cookpot, speaking animatedly with another Resistance fighter across a second fire pit. She approached the pair, and when the recruit saw his companion look toward her, turned as well. “Apologies for disrupting your conversation, but I’ve been asked to send you to your training.”

The man nodded his head at once. “The teacher calls for me, aye? I see. We were discussing strategies for disabling magitek armor, you see, and.... Well, no matter. There is no time. If you would excuse me.”

Blanchette nodded her head and watched as the man walked away. How curious to find so many intellectuals in the Resistance...

“I got those herbs you were looking for!” she heard the inimitably-cheery voice of Rurumi call out, and turned to see the gunner come running up to the woman who had tasked her in the first place. She handed over a sack with a few bits of green poking out of them to the woman, smiling brilliantly in that way of hers. Blanchette, turning to watch, caught the younger woman’s eye, who sneaked a wave at her.

“Thanks, that’ll do nicely,” the woman said, suddenly inexplicably nervous, taking the sack and setting it beside her on a crate with a number of other cooking implements. “And uh...sorry to impose upon you, ma’am...” She sheepishly looked between Rurumi and Blanchette. “Thought you were just another bunch of new recruits. Didn’t realize until after that you were, uh...”

Rurumi shook her head, waving her hands frantically in front of her. “Oh, no, don’t think that!” she exclaimed. “We’re really not that special! We just want to help people, you know?”

“She is correct,” Blanchette affirmed, moving to stand beside her team leader. “For us, the knowledge that we have made someone’s life a little better and done what we could to make the realm a better place is reward enough.”

The woman gave a nervous smile, still clearly put off to be in the presence of celebrities of their caliber. “Ah, well, we’re certainly more enriched for the font of kindness you ladies are.” Blushing slightly, the woman took a few of the greens from the sack, broke them into smaller fragments, and stirred them into her pot. “But to answer the question that’s probably on your minds, yes. It’s always like this. Never enough food or supplies to go around. All the more reason to be grateful when our countrymen can spare some for the cause. Though that comes at a cost, too. Too many villages, too many children more deserving than us...”

She sighed and shook her head, picking up a spice container from her supplies and shaking a pinch into the pot. “But a man can’t fight on an empty stomach, can he? So we partake, as we must. And we never lose sight of the dream.”

Rurumi looked up at the woman, her face a mask of determination. “It’s going to get better,” she said. “We promise.”

The woman smiled sadly. “I believe you’d give your last breath making it that way,” she said. “Safe travels to you and yours, ladies.”

The two Warriors of Light stepped away, moving back in the direction of Conrad’s command tent. Once they were out of earshot, Blanchette remarked, “I’d intended for weapons and munitions to comprise the bulk of my contributions to the war effort, but now I see that I clearly must needs put a higher priority on foodstuffs. Perhaps I might even convince my father to as well, sell it to him as humanitarian aid he can gain political points with.”

Her tone made it clear the distaste she would have at doing so, and Rurumi patted her side. “If it helps, think of it less that way, and more that you’re helping provide that many more meals to people in need,” she offered. “Think of it as making sure that no one in Ala Gannha goes hungry.”

Blanchette smiled warmly, honestly, at her shorter companion. “You always know the words to ease my mind,” she said gratefully.

Rurumi’s return smile outshone the very sun itself.

“Soooo... what did you find to help with?” the half-lalafell asked.

“An Ananta trainer asked me to find five recruits who are late for their training,” the Ishgardian woman replied. “So far, I’ve sent four on their way. The fifth, my inquiries around the camp have told me, should be up here on the path to the temple.”

Rurumi nodded. “Let’s go send him on his way, then!”

As they neared the path that lay beyond Conrad’s tent, however, they could hear Bee’s shouting echoing from within the stone tunnel. Though they couldn’t make out her words, they _could_ recognize her ‘drill sergeant’ tone. Scant seconds later, a Resistance fighter came sprinting out of the tunnel, with Bee hot on his heels.

“That’s right, ye scabrous sack of shite, run!” Bee shouted after him, drawing up to a halt a few paces away from the equally perplexed and petrified pair of Rurumi and Blanchette. “You should be more afraid of _me_ than of the scalefolk!”

Blanchette watched the poor recruit—and he _was_ definitely the last recruit she was looking for, now that she could see the white stripe on the back of his hood—all but run on water to get across the camp to where the Ananta battlemaid waited for a few moments, then turned her scathing gaze on her roegadyn companion. “What in the seven hells was _that_?” she hissed.

“Bee found him wetting his breeches just after we met up in the temple path,” Masya explained calmly, stepping past them on her way to return the journal to Beeves.

“I decided to put the fear of _me_ into him so he’d go run off and do his training,” the roegadyn said proudly, jabbing herself in the chest with her thumb.

Blanchette and Rurumi exchanged glances: the lalafell amused, the elezen exasperated. Rurumi offered a shrug and a grin. “Well, she took care of that last guy you were looking for?” she suggested.

“I suppose there is that...” Blanchette sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Oh, were you looking for that guy?” Bee asked. She neither looked nor sounded sheepish.

The Ishgardian woman shrugged noncommittally. “Only to do what you had already done, so I suppose it’s just as well.”

Bee laughed. “All’s well that ends well, then. Oh, give me a sec. I forgot I found a thing for that guy earlier.”

Digging through her pack, Bee headed toward Conrad’s tent, where the same roegadyn Resistance fighter that they had seen earlier was now standing, looking about the ground. Their conversation was just as out of earshot as was the one between Beeves and Masya, who had apparently finished her task and was now returning to the group.

Within a few moments, Bee returned as well, dusting her hands theatrically as she spoke with a faux old man’s voice, “And that, as they say, is that.” She continued in her normal voice, “I don’t know about you girls, but I feel like we’ve earned a bit of a break. Let’s go find somewhere shady to sit for a little while.”

“That sounds a fine idea to me,” Masya remarked, tipping her head and flicking an ear to remove some sweat.

The quartet meandered back down the hill, discussing where they would prefer to take their break. Masya and Rurumi seemed of a mind to take it in the shade of the bridge near the banks of the Mirage Creek. Blanchette felt the shaded trees in the sutler area would be a better bet, and Bee didn’t actually have a preference.

As they wandered past the sutler encampment, a familiar voice shouted out in their direction, “Well, well, look what the couerl dragged in!”

All four of them recognizing that voice in an instant, the quartet turned to find another group of four brightly-colored individuals coming toward them. In the lead was an average-height midlander woman wearing clothes in shades of brown that rivaled Blanchette’s for fashion and probable cost, with a pair of well-crafted sunglasses on her face and a beret covering her dark-brown-with-mocha tips hair. Behind her came another female miqo’te ninja who wore a dark orange vest that exposed heavily-scarred arms; her most notable feature was her milky white eyes, signifying a blindness that in no way inhibited her daily life. Next was a tall, slender woman in browns and golds who at first might have been mistaken for a highlander, if not for the pair of rabbit ears that rose above her brown hair. Last, and largest, was a roegadyn male whose Far East-inspired clothing and armor complimented his slightly-green Seawolf complexion.

“Hey, guys!” Rurumi called out cheerfully, running over to greet the others. Blanchette, Masya, and Bee followed at a more sedate pace.

The brunette woman—the obvious leader of the other group—crossed her arms under her chest and cocked a hip out to one side; the four Warriors of Light winced, knowing that posture always preceded a lecture from her. “So what, did we not merit an invitation to your little party?” she asked sternly, glaring at Rurumi through her darkened shades.

The half-lalafell shrunk back under the intensity of that stare and the accusation in her words, glancing across the other three members of the other group and finding them equally solemn. “W-well, it’s not like we were trying to snub you... I mean everything was happening so suddenly and...”

Approximately two more seconds passed before the newcomers could keep up the charade no longer. The rabbit-eared woman was the first to break, clapping her hands over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. The roegadyn man grinned broadly, the miqo’te adopted a ‘cat-that-got-the-canary’ grin, and even the other leader couldn’t restrain her smirk.

“You know I’m just kidding,” the woman said, standing upright and adjusting the good-sized—yet still stylish—satchel on her left lip. “We were gonna wind up out here one way or another, anyway.”

Rurumi sighed in relief that the other team wasn’t actually angry at them, then sheepishly shook her head. “Still, we probably should’ve warned you guys... Sorry, Adel...”

Adelaide waved it off. “You guys are like the wind, always going here and there,” she said. “I’m pretty sure your beds back at Beacon are collecting dust.”

Bee laughed shakily. “Hah, you are...not wrong.”

The rabbit-eared woman looked about at the hustle and bustle of the camp. “Come, let us not make a spectacle standing around like stacks of cord wood,” she said, her unusual accent immediately outing her as not being native to Eorzea, Ala Mhigo, or even the Far East. She gestured across Mirage Creek, to an unused section of the camp where several tables and chairs were set up. “Shall we find a seat and trade stories?”

Both groups nodded their heads in agreement, and made their way toward the unused area. Bee, however, could not resist a last quip. “Sure thing, Shara, but if we only find _a_ seat, then we’re about to play the world’s most savage game of musical chairs...”

 ---

  _The curtain of the first act rises. With the forces of the Resistance readied for battle, Conrad issues a proposal to the Alliance for the taking of Castellum Velodyna. General Raubahn directs his son to spy on the imperial fortifications, and the Scions move to aid in the battle to come. However, from the depths of the Ala Mhigan palace, Zenos yae Galvus has his own strategy to enact..._

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Chapter 6: **Heroes and Monsters**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as breather chapters go, that's possibly the fastest I've ever finished one. It's shorter than I'd planned, but I was working with precisely four quests. Spent a lot of time laying groundwork for the future in this, but honestly it was just about getting this out of the way for the next one. Let's rock and roll.
> 
> EDIT: Oops, forgot me next chapter preview.


	8. Heroes and Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin, I wanted to say a few things. I’m very proud to bring this chapter before you. As I demonstrated (to those who weren’t already familiar with me) in Side B: Cold Steel, I like battles and warfare. While the battle scenes in XIV were as good as could be expected given the medium, I felt there was plenty of room for improvement. To that end, this chapter will debut the first of my four major setpiece battles in the storyline of Stormblood. You can probably guess the other three.
> 
> Secondly, I’ve commented to several people that after the unexpected feels in Side A: The Prodigal Daughter, they’d have a two chapter grace period before more feels. Well, this is the third chapter after Side A. Prepare.
> 
> Lastly, a warning to those who need it. This chapter—and my other setpiece battle chapters—will contain graphic scenes of war violence.
> 
> Now, ready yourselves and please enjoy Huntresses of Light, Chapter 6: Heroes and Monsters.

_Rhalgr’s Reach, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by Joint Forces of the Ala Mhigan Resistance/Eorzean Alliance_

 

Several hours passed while the Warriors of Light caught up with their fellows from their free company and took a well-earned break. Soon enough, however, as the sun began to slip toward the horizon, they felt they had taken enough time to themselves, and that it was time to return to work. The eight adventurers stood and said their goodbyes.

“So what are you guys going to be doing?” Rurumi asked. “Are you staying around the Reach?”

Adelaide shook her head. “Not for now,” she said. “We’re running back and forth between here, Oriens, and Eorzean lands, mostly being go-betweens and couriers for other free companies.”

Nodding, Blanchette offered her hand to the other group’s leader. “Well, take care of yourselves out there.”

“You guys, as well,” the brunette woman replied, shaking the elezen’s hand. “We’re not the ones on the front lines.”

“For now,” the blind miqo’te pointed out.

“Serie’s right,” Shara said with a laugh. “It won’t be too long for us.”

Rolling her eyes, Adelaide looked at the other two women on her team. “Oh please, you act like I’m _trying_ to keep us out of it,” she scoffed. “We all know it’s a matter of time.”

“Speaking of time,” the roegadyn remarked to the other team, “I believe we’ve taken up enough of yours.” He gave a slight bow to them, then turned to his team leader. “Don’t forget, we’ve a meeting with Misriah before we return across the Wall.”

The brunette woman nodded. “Let’s not keep Miss Lingshen waiting, then.”

With a last round of waves and hugs, the other team departed, leaving the Warriors of Light standing amongst themselves. “It’s always good to see them,” Masya said.

“Yep, yep!” Rurumi agreed, then pointed across the creek in the direction of the command tent. “So let’s go see what’s going on!”

The four ladies crossed the ankle-deep Mirage Creek, then trudged up the hill toward the tent. Just ahead of them, they could see Alphinaud dusting his hands and nodding to himself; it seemed he’d been busy as well.

“...And with that,” they could hear him say, “another task is complete.”

He caught sight of them out of the corner of his eye, and turned to face them, greeting them with a wave and a broad smile. “Ah, my friends. I hear you have all been keeping quite busy.”

“A few odd jobs here and there,” Bee said in agreement.

“To be completely honest, we’ve spent most of our time catching up with another team from our free company that we met out here,” Blanchette confessed.

“Oh, the four that Arenvald’s group and I met coming across the Wall on our return,” Alphinaud said with a nod. “If I’d known they were associated with you, I would have insisted that they accompany us to the meeting earlier.” He shrugged. “But what’s past is past. Full glad am I to hear that the four of you took a break. You certainly deserved it.”

“It was kind of hard to sit still for that long, even sharing stories with them,” Rurumi remarked. “Like they say, no rest for the wicked.”

He regarded them steadily for a moment, then shook his head ruefully. “I suppose it’s true what they say, some just can’t be idle,” he said jokingly, then his brow furrowed in thought. “Come to think of it, I’m curious about something about your comrades. Please stop me if I’m being insensitive, but—”

“Never seen anyone like Shara?” Bee cut in, anticipating where his inquiries were going. She followed through on this by holding both hands to the top of her head in a rough facsimile of Shara’s ears, even going so far as to comedically let her left hand flop down.

Alphinaud nodded. “Yes, precisely. I had wondered...”

“She’s Viera,” Masya explained. “Her people are from almost as far as Doma, in the conquered province of Rabanastre.”

The young elezen scowled. “Another victim of Garlean oppression.” He sighed. “Though, I am glad to see she seems to have done well for herself here in Eorzea.”

Rurumi nodded emphatically. “She’s such a sweetheart,” she said. “We all love her to bits.”

“Good,” Alphinaud smiled. “Surely, she deserves no less. Now, as we are all here, back to business, shall we?”

They crossed into the shadow of Conrad’s tent and stood across the map table from the older man, who set down a report he had just finished reading. “Ah, good timing,” he said as he looked up and saw them. “It pleases me to inform you that our new recruits have completed their initial training and stand ready to contribute.”

He picked up another parchment and a quill, tapping it into an inkwell before beginning to scribble rapidly. “As discussed, M’naago,” he continued, “I would have you present my proposal for an assault on Castellum Velodyna to General Aldynn personally.”

“Of course, sir!” the miqo’te scout readily responded, saluting her superior. As she waited for Conrad to finish his writing, she looked across the table to the Scions. “Are you and yours planning to return to Castrum Oriens before the operation? If so, why don’t we travel together?”

The Warriors of Light nodded agreeably, to which Alphinaud answered, “That seems a fine suggestion, but I must consult our other comrades ’ere we depart.”

M’naago glanced over to see that Conrad was still writing, then looked back and nodded. “Very well,” she said. “I will wait for you at the pass.” She grinned. “But not too long!”

With a nod, Alphinaud turned and walked from the tent, the Warriors of Light following him. “I expect Krile and Y’shtola will wish to remain here to support the chirurgeons,” he began as they walked, “but nevertheless, we should go and ask them.”

The group swiftly crossed the camp and made their way into the infirmary, where they found their erstwhile healers attending to a Resistance fighter in the rest and recovery area. Y’shtola, having been first to notice them, turned to greet them, leaving Krile to finish up with their patient.

“Well, this is unexpected,” the blind conjurer noted, ‘looking’ between the three Scions and four Warriors of Light. “Is aught amiss?”

“No, we just came to check up with you guys,” Rurumi answered. “The Resistance is planning a mission to take the bridge to the south soon, and we came to see if you guys wanted to stay here or go with us.”

“I see,” Y’shtola said, pointedly ignoring the sudden facepalming by Bee. “That would explain the sudden flurry of activity outside.”

“This joint operation marks a turning point in our conflict with the Garleans,” Alphinaud took up the explanation. “For the first time, the Resistance and the Alliance shall go on the offensive and attempt to capture an imperial outpost in occupied territory.”

“‘Outpost’ is kind of underselling it,” Bee murmured to herself.

Alphinaud had heard her, and though he agreed with her assessment, that was neither here nor there. He continued, “Personally, I believe it is imperative that we offer them our full support. As was the case with Ishgard, however, this is not a choice to be made lightly, nor less on others’ behalves. This is war, and every Scion must decide what part he or she would play.”

“I’ll fight,” Lyse said suddenly, lifting her right hand and clenching it into a fist. “For Ala Mhigo, for my father, for Yda. I’m in it to the end.”

Alisaie, standing beside her, decided it her turn to speak next. “The choice was made for us ’ere we were born, Brother,” she told her twin, “when the Empire marched on Eorzea. They will stop at nothing to subjugate or slaughter us all. Baelsar and Darnus were but the first to try.”

Alphinaud turned fully to face his sister, nodding to her. “...Though your fervor is surprising, I cannot dispute your logic.” He turned back so that he could look upon all of his comrades at once. “At the risk of repeating myself, I am, of course, of the same mind. The present situation is untenable, and further complicated by the existence of Ilberd’s primal. I believe we have no recourse but to directly and openly intervene.”

Y’shtola raised an eyebrow and smothered a smirk, wondering once more at Alphinaud’s insistence at refusing to take the mantle of the Scions’ leader. She lifted a hand idly as Krile stepped up beside her, finished with their patient. “...I thought this a foregone conclusion given our actions thus far,” the miqo’te said, “but if you require renewed affirmation, then yes, I am still wholly committed to this cause. For it is ultimately the selfsame cause I have served since first I pledged to serve Master Louisoix and the Circle of Knowing: the salvation of Eorzea, by any means necessary.” She shrugged. “That said, I shall refrain from taking the field on this occasion. There are many here who require further treatment, and doubtless more to come after.”

Beside her, Krile raised her arms in a slight shrug. “I came here for Minfilia,” she said, “and that hasn’t changed. However, I’d like to stay with Y’shtola for now and tend to the wounded.”

With a nod to the two healers, Alphinaud at last turned his gaze to the Warriors of Light. “As for you, Rurumi, Blanchette, Masya, Bee... The four of you—and of course Johnathan, Sigrid, Thorvald, and Rei as well—are, to quote our dear friend Lord Edmont, the heroes who slew Gaius van Baelsar and some half-dozen primals besides. Your presence may well prove the difference between victory and defeat. Many look to you as the heroes you are, and heap great expectations upon your shoulders. But you four, like every Scion, must decide for yourselves.”

The four women looked between themselves for a moment, words unspoken passing between them. The other Scions watched this curiously for a moment, seeing just a small shade of how well they were able to work together as a team in this ability to communicate without words.

Rurumi was the first to speak up, smiling brilliantly as she said, “Even if every single day feels like a struggle against some unstoppable monster we can never hope to beat, we still have to try. If not for us, then for the people we’ve already lost.” She closed her eyes a moment, taking in a deep, shuddering breath, and added, “For the people we haven’t lost yet.”

Blanchette laid a hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. Yet she looked straight into Alphinaud’s eyes as she said, “For those who haven’t the strength to save themselves. I watched my country torn apart, learned that a thousand years of war was fought for greed, out of anguish. And you all stood by me. I would be the lesser person were I not to stand by all of you. And I will never let it be said that I am a lesser woman to my friends, than they themselves are to I.”

Stepping out of the shadows she was so comfortable in, Masya placed her hands on both Rurumi and Blanchette’s shoulders. “Good can only come once the carnage is over,” she said. “The Empire is little more than an engine of carnage. I will fight.”

Bee stepped forward and threw her arm around all three of them as best she was able to. “Alphy, you know me,” she began, smirking in that usual way of hers. “I’m just in it for the adventure. Little better than a hired blade. But I’ve been around enough to see that me and the Empire ain’t ever gonna get along. So you bring me to the battlefield, and I’ll wreck it. Besides...” She clapped Blanchette on the back hard enough to stagger her. “I can’t go abandoning my girls to the tender mercies of Garlemald.”

Alphinaud smiled warmly at the four of them, and he knew without looking that the other Scions were equally as proud. “Well said, my friends,” he told them. “Well said indeed...”

It looked for a moment as though he were choked up by their responses, and to save him the embarrassment, Alisaie said to their healers, “Y’shtola, Krile, take care, and do not hesitate to contact us should you require assistance.” She looked to the Ala Mhigan beside her, and braced herself for a metaphorical fight. “Lyse, I would ask that you remain here, by Conrad’s side. I believe it would put all our minds at ease knowing that one of us was beside him.”

As predicted, the blonde fighter had been about to complain, but the further explanation stilled the words before they left her lips. She couldn’t dispute the logic in the request, and so nodded her head and gave a smile to let the elezen know she was not offended.

Alisaie smiled in return, then turned to her brother and the Warriors of Light. “We should go, or M’naago will leave without us,” she said.

“You have the right of it,” Alphinaud replied. “Let’s not disappoint her. And Bee, stop calling me Alphy.”

\---

“I’m not a smart man...” Yang drawled, imitating the titular character in _Forrest Gump_ in reference to her character’s response to Alphinaud’s question. “So, what did you girls pick? I mean, I can guess at Ruby and Weiss, so mostly what did _you_ pick, Blake?”

“ _The Empire is too dangerous,”_ Blake responded simply.

Yang scrolled up the chat log to reference that against what Blake had said in-character, then nodded approvingly. “Nicely done.”

“ _I_ really _liked your answer, Weiss,”_ Ruby praised. _“I thought I was being all fancy and special with mine, but you totally blew me away.”_

“ _Nonsense, Ruby,”_ Weiss said warmly. _“Your answer was wonderful, and perfectly suited to your character. Even Yang’s was...amusingly appropriate.”_

The blonde shrugged out of habit, knowing it would be unseen. “Look, Bee is not a complex character,” she said. “She is very pretty, very manly, and she hits things very hard. Thinking is for you guys.”

“ _Except when it comes to military strategy, Miss-Where-Are-the-Claymores,”_ Blake teased.

“Hey, I can’t help that,” Yang protested. “That kind of thinking is _hard_ to turn off.”

“ _In her defense,”_ Ruby spoke up, _“at least she usually slips me or Weiss—”_

“ _Weiss or I,”_ the German woman interrupted.

Predictably, Ruby ignored the correction, _“—whatever information or strategy she’s got so our smarter characters can use it.”_

Yang chuckled. “In any other circumstance, I’d be offended that you just implied my character is stupid, Sis.”

“ _But you can’t,”_ Blake pointed out.

“I can indeed not,” the blonde agreed. “If only because I, myself, said she was dumb.” She paused to take a sip of the soda on her desk. “So, I like how we just like entirely cut out that last dialogue box from Alphy.”

“ _Consider the context, Yang,”_ the voice of their story-teller said. _“In the game, Alphinaud was asking the player to further think on the response they had made. But the four of you had made your choice emphatically clear. It would have been wholly redundant for him to say.”_

\---

 _Castrum Oriens, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance_

 

As was to be expected in an active war zone, Raubahn was once more in conference when the Scions arrived at the castrum. This time, rather than officers of the Alliance military, he was surrounded by several adventurers: the silver-armored man with the greatsword they had seen on their very first arrival, the short-haired female miqo’te scholar they had seen the armored man with, a male miqo’te who was—rather unusually—clad in the armor and wielding the spear of Ishgardian dragoons, a female miqo’te in flowing robes whose staff and rapier marked her as a mage with an interesting favor for combat, and a pair of elezen; male and female, both wearing light leather armor, the white-haired female equipped with a conjurer’s wand and the darker-haired male wearing both a mage’s staff and a sword.

Raubahn glanced over to see the Scions arriving, notably that they again had M’naago with them. To the adventurers, he requested, “Could you give us a moment? Those plans might be changing presently.”

Acquiescing, the adventurers left in pairs—suggesting that each pair was a commander and a second of an adventurer unit—save for the silver-armored man, who took the time to exchange salutes with the general, then nod to the Scions before he stepped away.

Raubahn turned his attention onto the Scions. “Welcome back, comrades,” he said. “What news?”

“Greetings, General,” M’naago answered, removing a rolled parchment from the pouches of her armor. “I am come at Commander Kemp’s behest to brief you on the latest developments at the Reach. Our recruitment efforts have exceeded expectations. In addition to welcoming many motivated young Ala Mhigans, our ranks have been bolstered by the arrival of a number of experienced veterans, thanks in large part to the efforts of the Scions. As a consequence, we are now able to field half a dozen new units, with more being trained as we speak.”

The Flame General nodded in agreement. “We have much to be thankful for to them in that regard, as well,” he stated. “The names of the Scions and the Warriors of Light are as pure gold in the currency of men and women flocking to our banners. If this continues, our adventurer militia will outnumber our regulars by a significant degree. At any rate, I gather Conrad is eager to strike while the iron’s hot?”

M’naago nodded, passing the missive across the table to him. “Just so, General. He proposes that we begin preparations for a joint operation to capture Castellum Velodyna.”

Beside Raubahn, Vice Marshal Pipin laughed once. “Velodyna, eh? Commander Kemp certainly isn’t for small targets.” He sobered almost instantly. “It will not be an easy mark. It will, however, be necessary if we are ever to push east towards the capital...”

“There’s no profit in delay,” Raubahn replied, quoting an old Ul’dahn aphorism. “It is only a matter of time before the Garleans learn of our plans and summon reinforcements.” He turned back toward M’naago. “The Alliance hereby accepts Commander Kemp’s proposal. Tell him to take no chances—bring every able-bodied Ala Mhigan who can hold a weapon. Meanwhile, we will develop a battle strategy.” He looked back down at his son and second. “Pipin, I want Velodyna watched. Assess its defenses. Every fortress has a weakness, and I would know this one’s.”

Alisaie spoke up, “If there is no objection, General, might the Scions join Marshal Tarupin? Masya, at the very least, is highly-skilled at intelligence work.”

Raubahn nodded. “By all means, please do so,” he replied. “If I may, I would like to request that Master Arkwright and his team remain here as a quick response force.”

“That is a suitable arrangement,” Alphinaud said. “We would do well not to burden a reconnaissance team with an excess of personnel.”

“Then let us be about it!” Raubahn barked in his command voice. He beckoned over to the loitering adventurers nearby. “Lieutenant Ganale, your mission is changed...”

The Scions stepped away from the general’s command post to let him plan the operation in peace. M’naago had already sprinted off to deliver the word to Conrad.

“Conrad and the General are of one mind, it seems...” Alisaie murmured as they approached the gates. “I only wish I could say the same. While this aggressive strategy may well profit us in the end, what losses will we suffer in the meantime...?” She shook her head. “Anyway, we should speak with the vice marshal about this reconnaissance mission and see how he would like to proceed.”

No sooner had she said this than Pipin approached them, his sword sheathed at his hip and carrying his horned helmet in his hands. “Thank you for volunteering to join me,” he told them. “This should be a fairly straightforward reconnaissance mission, so long as we do not have the ill fortune to run afoul of an imperial patrol.” He took a moment to glance back to the command post, where the six adventurers from before were being briefed anew by Raubahn. “That _shouldn’t_ happen; Father is dispatching some of our best militia forces to secure the area and draw off any patrols.”

He hefted his helmet onto his head. “Might I see one of your maps?”

Blanchette handed hers over. Pipin swiftly made a mark on it, then handed it back. A glance showed he had dotted a space just to the north of what looked to be a rocky outcrop near the bridge, in the ‘Pike Falls’ area.

“Our destination is there, beyond the East End, just north of Velodyna,” he explained. “Let’s be on with it.”

\---

“ _So this is that other instance that’s been congested, right?”_ Blake asked, bracing herself for a long afternoon of server congestion, disconnects, and login queues.

“ _Unfortunately, yes,”_ Penny answered. _“The ‘In Crimson It Began’ instance is also reported as a bottle-necked instance, though less so than ‘Best Served in Cold Steel’. Curiously, there does not seem to be any major congestion at this moment, so this may be the best time to undertake the duty.”_

Yang glanced at the clock in the bottom right corner of her second monitor; it was still early afternoon. “Hey, Penny, what happened to not using company time for private matters or whatever it was?”

There was a brief, but notable pause, then the ginger rapidly answered, _“I am on my lunch break, of course!”_ Her microphone, set to be push-to-talk, picked up what sounded like the start of a hiccup before she stopped transmitting.

Yang laughed. “Hey, I’m the _last_ person who will get onto you about screwing off at work, but I’m just saying.”

“ _Oh, stop teasing the poor girl,”_ Roman admonished. _“I, for one, am glad for her eerily-accurate insights as to the ins and outs of our servers. Honestly, I have no idea how she manages to do it.”_

“ _She’s our little Reddit queen,”_ Coco posited. _“Nobody can multitask and use Google-Fu like Penny.”_

\---

 _Pike Falls, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _No Man’s Land_

 

Darkness had fallen by the time Pipin and the Scions arrived at the scouting point. Unmolested by imperial patrols, and skirting the native wildlife to avoid a conflict which might give them away, the party settled in the shadow of a pointed outcrop of rocks that jutted out over the cliff’s edge. Masya, master of the shadows that she was, had climbed the rocks to keep watch from a high vantage point. Down below, the other three members of the team and the Leveilleur twins kept watch on the roads while Pipin crawled to the very edge of the cliff, spying on the imperial fortifications through a spyglass.

Half a bell passed as the lalafellin marshal observed the bridge fortress, committing to memory every aspect of its defenses, as well as studying the routes of patrols and sentries visible from their vantage point. Masya, he suspected, had a better view of the interior of the fort, and he would most definitely have to compares his notes against hers once they were safely back at the Alliance headquarters.

Finally, Pipin nodded and lowered his spyglass. “Excellent...” he whispered to the others, creeping backwards from the ledge. “The disposition of imperial forces is exactly as is to be expected. I will notify Father once we return.”

Without warning, the echoing boom of a distant explosion rolled across the Fringes. “Hmm?” Pipin wondered aloud. “I hadn’t thought Father meant to employ artillery to cover our scouting, but if the imperials are getting nosy—”

Masya was suddenly in their midst as several more volleys landed somewhere in the Fringes. “Those are not Alliance cannons!” she warned.

At the same time, Alisaie stood up abruptly, having been looking for the source of the fires. “Smoke! There!” she called, pointing in the direction of... “Oh, gods, it’s the Reach!”

That news brought all of them to their feet, their eyes turning to the northeast. Indeed, as Alisaie had alerted, a thick column of smoke rose from within the glamoured valley, lit from below by the angry red light of fires.

Alphinaud immediately lifted a hand to the linkpearl in his ear, only to be instantly struck nearly deaf by an ear-piercing squelch of static interference. “It’s no use—they must be jamming our communications.”

“You don’t think it’s a coordinated attack?” Alisaie asked.

“Too early to draw conclusions, as like as it seems,” Pipin answered for her brother. “We must abort the mission and reinforce the Reach at once.”

There was no argument; at once, all seven fighters took off sprinting toward the burning sanctuary.

\---

 _Castrum Oriens, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance_

 

“What in the seven hells is going on over there!?” Raubahn demanded, shoving his way to the edge of the observation platform atop the battlements.

The two Twin Adders soldiers who had been manning the post immediately gave way, the ranking one presenting his spyglass to the Flame General as he responded, “Unknown, sir. Cannon fire and smoke from the direction of the Reach. It may be an imperial attack.”

For several long, tense moments, silence blanketed the observation post as the general stared across the Fringes through the spyglass, assessing the situation. Unexpected cannon fire, smoke and flame coming from the Reach... It was either an assault, or some manner of tragic accident. Both would require a response from the Alliance.

“How the bloody hells did they find the Reach...” Raubahn growled under his breath, turning and looking down into the main area of the castrum, which had now become a swarm of activity following the abrupt artillery barrage.

He handed the spyglass back and ordered, “Continue to observe the situation. Update as the situation changes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he simply _jumped_ the half-dozen yalms to the ground, landing with barely a grunt. He was met immediately by Storm Captain Skoenstral and Serpent Captain Jesanc, his lieutenants from the Maelstrom and Twin Adders respectively. Both were armed for battle.

“No word from the Reach or any of our patrols afield, General,” Skoenstral reported. “Our comms beyond short-range have been blocked, most likely by enemy jamming.”

“Then we can rule out an accident,” Raubahn said darkly. “Communications jamming can only be the precursor of invasion.”

“We’ve put the garrison on full alert,” Jesanc said. “Awaiting your command, General.”

A flash of light at the aetheryte heralded an arriving party, and Raubahn was somewhat relieved to see that it was one of the resident magitek experts aiding Cid Garlond in the search for Omega. The dark-haired miqo’te located the Flame General after a moment and began striding toward him purposefully; another flash of light seconds later brought along her ever-present blonde-haired companion.

“Master Garlond is en route, General, and sends his apologies for his delay,” she said as she drew near, dispensing with the pleasantries. “But as you know, he’s not capable of teleporting. We heard imperial guns from down in the Dimwold.”

“It’s as you’ve no doubt surmised,” Raubahn replied. “We suspect an imperial force has descended on the Reach. We’ve no means of contacting them.”

A confused frown marred the woman’s face, and she touched a device on her left wrist. “Is the signal boos—damn, it’s overloaded. They’re using stronger baffles than we anticipated.” She looked to her companion. “Let’s go, Myu. We’re going to have to manually reconfigure this monster.”

“Hold a moment, Miss Lingshen,” the Flame General said, raising his arm. “Before you do that, might we borrow some of your automata to help us ward off the imperial attack?”

Paused in midstride, her gaze flickered between the white-armored figure just barely visible outside the castrum’s gate, and back to Raubahn. “I would advise against it,” she cautioned. “My combat drones are great on assault, good at defense, but they’re not yet sophisticated enough to distinguish beyond ‘friend’ or ‘foe.’ Sending them into an environment with noncombatants could prove tragic.”

He didn’t dispute her assessment. They were, after all, her creations. She would know best how well they would perform. “Very well, they’ll remain here in case the Reach is a diversion.” With nothing further needing to be said, the two miqo’te ran toward the interior gate. The Flame General turned to his two men. “Rally a response force. I want half again as many healers as troops; casualties are sure to be high. I leave the castrum in your capable hands.”

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ **_UNDER IMPERIAL ASSAULT_ **

 

The first volley of cannon fire had landed in the sutler area, wiping out the tents clustered there and causing dozens of casualties. The second had destroyed the outer barricades to the Peaks, where the waiting Skulls soon charged in to the confusion. Dazed and wounded Resistance forces were cut down with not a shred of mercy, nor was any shown to any of the merchants that had survived the initial barrage.

To their credit, it didn’t take long for the stout-hearted fighters of the Resistance to rally the defense; well-rested fighters from the other side of the encampment charging across the Mirage Creek and the Starfall bridge to meet their foes. Despite their quick response and their determination, however, the advantage laid with the rapidly-advancing imperial forces.

Into the chaos strode the commander of the Skulls, Fordola herself, shamshir blade gripped tightly in her right hand. “Forward!” she ordered her men, cutting down a Resistance soldier without breaking her stride. “ _Forward!_ Give them no quarter!”

She caught sight of another man charging toward her and stepped into his attack, dropping her shoulder to let the man’s lance pass over her harmlessly, and answering with a disemboweling stroke across his exposed center. The man dropped to his knees, and she kicked him backwards to the ground before stepping away, flicking her blade to clear the gore clinging to it.

Near the bridge, Meffrid hacked ferociously at a Skull, the fury of his assault causing the man to take a leap back in fear. Keeping his momentum going, the Ala Mhigan spun fully around and caught the stumbling enemy soldier with a rising upswing that opened him from left hip to right shoulder.

Splashing came from behind him, and he glanced back to see the young man who had come to join them from Ala Gannha, and several of his fellows, arriving to the fight with weapons at hand. Meffrid immediately stepped to the side and held his blade out to bar their path.

“Captain Meffrid?” the young man asked, gripping his sword anxiously. “We’ve come to—”

“It matters not!” Meffrid responded. “Fall back, evacuate the infirmary!”

“But, Captain—” the man began to protest.

A fearful glance from one of the new recruits clued the veteran fighter in to danger behind him, and he spun without looking and drove his blade forward, stopping a charging Skull in his tracks with a fulm of steel to the gut. Almost casually, Meffrid withdrew his sword and turned back to the greenhorns. “Follow your orders, damn you!”

The young man’s fellows didn’t need to be told twice, already beating a quick retreat back across the creek. The youth, however, hesitated, clearly torn between following his orders and helping Meffrid hold the line. Duty soon won out, however, and he nodded slowly, hesitantly stepping back.

Taking pity on the clearly-torn boy, Meffrid turned and caught his arm with his free hand. “Wiscar,” he told the youth, nodding solemnly. “There’ll be another time.”

Wiscar nodded in return, his expression wavering between grim determination and grief at the carnage around them, and Meffrid pointedly ignored the watery sheen to the youth’s eyes. The young man quickly turned to follow his comrades, and Meffrid watched him go for a moment. Wiscar had the makings of a fine soldier, indeed...

He turned back to the enemy before him, surveying the field, and his blood boiled in his veins. “ _You!_ ” he snarled, charging toward Fordola, who was calmly striding toward him in return.

She evaded his first strike, tucking her body to one side, and then leaned her head back to dodge the backswing that would have split her skull open. He came in again for a high overhead, but she swatted it aside with her own blade. Rather than capitalize on the opening left when he stumbled back from the parry, she merely flourished her blade around her hand and pointed it at him.

Taunting him.

Meffrid quickly recovered, spinning in preparation for an attack, but when he saw none was forthcoming, he spun his blade about his hand to reseat his grip on it. Fordola, mockingly, twirled her blade in a similar manner.

“Traitor!” he screamed at her, his grip tight enough on his blade to hurt his hand. “Kinslayer!”

Fordola scoffed. “You’re no kin of mine!” she shot back.

Time seemed to slow between the two fighters, the clamor of the war going on around them fading to a dull background noise, then seeming silence. Meffrid could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his breaths ragged and harsh in his ears.

Death had ever been a close companion to him, all through the years since the imperial invasion, through the long years of resistance, first as a foot soldier and now as a respected and well-liked commander. And as ever, this was where it brought him: on his feet, the enemy ahead of him. Within the time-dilated sanctum of his mind, he could sense the Reaper lurking nearby again. Perhaps this time, his ‘old friend’ would have finally come for him.

 _No,_ he thought grimly, steeling himself. _This woman will not make an orphan of my daughter!_

He rose his sword to the sky and charged.

Fordola surged forward barely an instant after he did. She lowered her body as she drew near, carrying her safely under his overhead strike. Her horizontal slash, however, met its damning mark.

Meffrid felt fire explode across his chest, and for a moment, he didn’t understand why. Then it became impossible to breathe, and he looked down to see blood flooding down his abdomen to stain his trousers. He stumbled forward a step, then could no longer move his legs. His previous momentum brought him to his knees, the harsh impact of his kneecaps against the rocky ground barely a footnote to the crushing pain in his chest.

His sword and shield fell from numbed fingers, the paired implements clattering harshly to the ground. For a brief moment, he stilled in an upright position, but then gravity asserted its hold on him and he slowly slumped forward and to the left, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

He thought he heard Lyse scream his name, but the sound of her voice was distant and tiny, drowned by the roaring of blood in his ears. It was cold, colder than it should have been in the Reach for an early summer’s night, and he was growing dreadfully tired from the constant fighting.

No.

It was the blood loss, he knew in a sudden sharp recall of his senses. The loss of blood was responsible for the tiredness, the cold, his inability to feel his extremities. The difficulty breathing he reckoned to that damned woman’s strike collapsing one of his lungs. Even without the damning presence of imperial forces, he knew his wound was mortal.

Blinking slowly, he saw Lyse charge across his field of vision, her face a picture of rage even through the tears flowing freely from her eyes. Past her, in the far distance, he could barely make out Wiscar and his fellows carrying or dragging wounded comrades up the hill and out of the Reach. Even in his coldness, he felt the warmth of pride spread through him; some of the wounded would live, as would some of the greenhorns.

That, he felt, was a legacy he could be proud to leave behind.

His eyes focused on something much closer, a small thing lying in the dirt within arm’s reach. It took him a moment to recognize the small wood carving, a palm-sized trinket depicting a woman and a child. It probably wasn’t an accurate depiction, carved as it was from memory, but still... Trembling fingers reached out and grasped the token, holding it away from the spreading pool of his blood. He closed his hand tightly to keep the blood from spoiling it.

 _My love, take your time,_ he thought, letting his eyes slip shut. _I’ll see you on the other side..._

\---

Lyse wasn’t sure what prompted her to look. Perhaps a trick of the light drew her eye. Perhaps her sensitivity to aether pulled her attention. Perhaps Papalymo was still guiding her from the other side.

None of that mattered, however. Only the mortally-drawn Meffrid, falling to the ground, his murderer standing a pace behind him.

“ _Meffrid!_ ” she screamed with such force that her throat went raw, sprinting toward them from where she’d been trying to fight off the imperial forces that were trying to finish off the wounded from the sutler area.

Helplessly, she watched him collapse into the dirt and go still, blood slowly pooling around him. Hot, angry tears streaked down her cheeks, lost in the wind behind her.

That woman was going to die by her hand.

A Skull soldier sprinted to intercept her, but she barely broke her stride to knock him aside with a single palm thrust. She felt bone and flesh give way underneath her _ki_ -embued strike, launching the dead or dying man back a dozen fulms.

She leapt into the air to recover her momentum, her knee rising in what would have made a satisfying crunch against the Skull commander’s face, but the woman sidestepped the blow. Lyse was almost satisfied; she would have been _disappointed_ if she’d one-shotted the damned woman.

Fordola came at her back before she had even landed, but Lyse pivoted gracefully and roundhouse-kicked the blade away from her. The blade actually flipped out of her hand, but the enemy was swift and precise enough to snatch the pin-wheeling weapon out of the air and turn for a leg-sweep that Lyse pirouetted over before coming back at Fordola.

“Hells take you!” she screamed at the woman.

On some deep intellectual level, she knew that she was letting her emotions control her actions, resulting in slower, more easily-dodged fist blows—she could all but hear Papalymo chastising her for losing control like this.

Fordola caught a left-handed strike with her shield, and in the brief interruption of her combo, Lyse forced herself to be calm, to take back control of herself. The enemy commander had left herself open by raising her shield so high to catch the blow, and Lyse rewarded her with a right body-blow. To her immense satisfaction, she both felt and _heard_ a rib give way under the strike.

The woman grunted in pain, slowed by the hit. Lyse took the opportunity to spin in a full circle, combining momentum into a backhanded right fist against the woman’s wildly-flailing shield hard enough to send her staggering back a pace. Lyse didn’t give her time to breathe, jumping up and drawing _ki_ to her right hand.

Fordola barely had time to lift her shield to take the empowered strike, the force of the hit sending her skidding backwards a dozen fulms away from the enraged Ala Mhigan. She was lucky that her path had been clear of debris, lest she have toppled over and left herself open to the vengeful Lyse.

Pausing in her assault, Lyse forced herself to take several deep breaths, trying with all her might to call back all the times that Papalymo had tried to teach her not to fight with anger.

Across from her, Fordola lowered her shield, but then winced and clutched her side where Lyse had struck her, groaning in pain.

Into the relative quiet of this standoff, Lyse heard a new sound. The unmistakable chatter of armor plates moving relative to one another. The Resistance eschewed the use of armor; the better to be fast and mobile. The Alliance, too, typically only featured armor in their heavy-assault front line troops or the individual sets owned by adventurer militia. Even the standard Garlean infantry wore the barest minimum of armor, just enough to protect the vital zones and certainly not enough to produce such a clatter.

She looked to her right, and felt a chill settle in her bones at the sight of the approaching Garlean officer. And only a true-blooded Garlean could he be, with the height he displayed.

Lyse had faced everything from run-of-the-mill bandits, to corrupt authority figures, to primal-enthralled raging beastmen, and had even faced down the White Raven and the Black Wolf. She didn’t think herself afraid of anything, but as she stared into the soulless black eyes of the enemy officer’s masked visage, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was looking Death, himself in the eye.

As calmly as though he were out for a morning stroll, Zenos stopped over a dozen paces away from the stalemate, his gaze fixed on Lyse. He held it for long enough so that there was no mistaking that she had his undivided attention, then glanced a moment to the staggering, groaning Fordola, and back to Lyse again.

“Well, well...” he said slowly, the amusement clear in his mechanically-filtered voice. “Stand aside, Pilus, this one has promise.”

“Have a care, my lord,” Fordola answered between gasping breaths. “She’s not like the others.”

He rolled his eyes at the Ala Mhigan woman’s statement of the obvious, but its effect was lost with his helmet in place. Of _course_ this blonde fighter was different; that was why she had earned his attention. He chose not to respond to the Skull commander, focusing his response on Lyse as he hummed thoughtfully. “Do not disappoint me, girl,” he told her. “Or I will kill you.”

The magitek sheath at his hip spun several times before coming to a halt, from within which he drew a black Eastern blade. He then stood motionless; Lyse had earned his attention, but she had not earned the distinction of _him_ initiating the battle.

Nearby, one of Fordola’s men exploded in an immolation of fire. As the aetheric flame rapidly dissipated, Conrad gazed through to see that the legate had arrived on the field. “Seven hells...” he muttered. “ _Zenos_ is here!”

“You are a _dead man_!” Lyse snarled, sprinting toward Zenos and charging her _ki_ as rapidly as she could.

Wind and flame whispered in the wake of her fist as she drove her right hand at the imperial, but to her astonishment, he lifted his left arm into the path of her blow without otherwise moving. He hadn’t even bothered to intercept it with his hand, instead levering his forearm into its path in a manner that would’ve guaranteed a shattered arm on any other man. The gathered _ki_ of her strike dissipated harmlessly into the ambient air.

She stepped back and launched another strike, but he swiftly moved his arm into its path once more, positioning his arm so that her strike was caught at the outer base of his hand. Once more, anyone else would’ve had their hand smashed by the blow.

He was taunting her.

Her fury mounting, she roundhouse-kicked toward his head, but he swept his arm out and up, flinging her leg out of line and interrupting her sequence. Still balanced on one leg, she struck again with her fist, and this time he intercepted it with the side of his wrist. She tried to sneak in a left hook, but he caught her fist in his palm this time.

“So spirited...” he told her, faint praise in his voice. At his next words, his voice fell completely flat, filled with the disappointment of a teacher whose star pupil had fallen short, “And yet so empty.”

She took a step back, quick-charging her _ki_ , and came at him again, but this time, he bothered to counter. Instead of passively intercepting the blow, he shoved his arm out to meet her strike. Having expected to meet further away, the backblast of her blow sent her staggering back several steps.

Before she could regroup, he half-heartedly drew his sword back and swung it toward her, sending a wave of energy rolling forth from the blade. The blast caught Lyse full in the chest and knocked her back nearly to the pool that was the source of the Mirage Creek.

When she dragged herself up to a seated position, she found Zenos towering over her, staring down at her with an unreadable expression. As he raised his sword over his head to strike her down, she glared up at him.

The blade fell, but rather than strike her head from its shoulders, a brilliant burst of aether flashed into place to block its downward descent. Belatedly, Lyse recognized the white-clad back standing awkwardly between her and the legate.

“Lyse, run!” Y’shtola cried, her arms twisted before her as she held the barrier in place against Zenos’ sword.

“Ah, a magical barrier,” the Garlean said, a touch of admiration in his voice. “Alas... It will not save you.”

With methodical slowness, he brought his left hand over to take a proper two-handed grip on his sword, leaning forward to apply more pressure against the miqo’te Scion’s barrier.

To her horror, the shield began to crack as though it were a dome of glass where it met with the imperial’s sword. Unseeing eyes widened as she desperately poured more of her aether into the barrier.

Then, all at once, the shield failed, splintering into fragments like the glass upon which it was modeled, and Zenos’ follow-through caught Y’shtola in the chest.

Blood exploded from her mouth, only able to utter a disbelieving “H-how...” before she slumped to the ground at Lyse’s feet.

The blonde could only look on in horror as the white fabric of the miqo’te’s robe almost immediately grew red, blood pooling around her. Fresh tears streaked down her face; she’d now lost _two_ friends on this dreadful night, one of them even sacrificing herself for her!

How many more would she lose?

Nearby, dread clawed its way through Conrad’s gut as he watched the carnage unfold, pulling his bayoneted pistol from the gut of an imperial soldier—an _actual_ imperial, come as they had now that Zenos was on the field. From the corner of his eye, he saw several of the precious few men that were still with him taking tentative steps back; surely if even the vaunted _Scions of the Seventh Dawn_ were being so systemically dismantled by the imperial legate, what chance did they have?

“Hold the line, by Rhalgr!” he shouted, turning his head toward them. “Hold the damn line!”

It was in this moment of inattentiveness that Fordola made her move, striking down the man to Conrad’s left on the run before closing the gap and clubbing the Resistance commander in the side of the head with the hilt of her sword.

\---

 _The Striped Hills, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Unoccupied Territory_

 

As the Scions and Pipin drew closer to the Reach, they could hear the sounds of pitched battle grow louder with every step, channeled by the natural chambers of the canyons. To make matters worse, imperial airships were now maneuvering about the formerly-hidden valley, clearly moving to drop more troops and magitek weapons into the massacre.

“I think the question of whether it was an accident or an attack is now academic,” Blanchette remarked, her eyes fixed on the airships.

Alphinaud was the first to spot the ragged group staggering away from the Reach: five Resistance fighters, including M’naago; Arenvald, Krile, and half a dozen terrified merchants. All showed obvious signs of injury, and two of the Resistance fighters were only able to move by leaning on one another to stay upright. Two more of the fighters carried a stretcher with another badly-wounded fighter between them, and Arenvald—gods bless him—carried one man across his shoulders and half-carried, half-dragged another under his left arm; his right hand firmly gripped his bloodied sword.

“Krile!” Alphinaud called as the group drew to a halt.

The dazed, thousand-yalm stare on the lalafell healer’s face slowly evaporated, to be replaced with unabashed joy at seeing friendly faces. “Alphinaud!”

As the group of injured stopped to rest—several of the merchants falling to their knees and shaking in terror, with Arenvald awkwardly turning to face the rear and guard against more enemies—the Warriors of Light moved wordlessly to where they could be the most helpful: Blanchette walked the lines of the injured, twisting her healing magic to close wounds and stabilize injuries, while the other three moved to the back of the formation. Bee clapped Arenvald gently on the shoulder of his sword arm and stood beside him, her axe drawn and its head resting against the ground. Masya and Rurumi stood on their fellow Scion’s other side, blades and gun drawn.

“My friends...” the Ala Mhigan said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Never have I been more glad to see you.”

“We’ve got your back, brother,” Bee responded just as quietly, her hand gripped tight around the haft of her axe.

Unseen in the darkness, the color of her eyes had begun to darken...

At the head of the formation, Alphinaud surreptitiously looked Krile over for signs of injury as he spoke, “We saw the smoke and heard explosions.” His momentarily-lifted gaze took in the airships still circling the smoke. “It’s clear to us now that we’ve come under attack.”

“The imperials were all over us before we realized what was happening...” the Sharlayan scholar told him, her voice shaking as she struggled to maintain her composure. “No one knew where to run or what to do... It was chaos...”

She sucked in a deep breath, to which Alphinaud gently encouraged, “Take your time, Krile...”

With a faint smile, she nodded and continued, “Lyse and Master Kemp rallied what men they could and bought us enough time to get some of the wounded to safety, but I haven’t seen either of them since...”

“Confound it!” Pipin cursed, crossing his arms and glaring at the airships. “If we lose the Reach, this will all have been for naught!”

Suddenly, a crackle of static took them by surprise, and Pipin’s hand was instantly to his ear. “Father? Do you copy? Any Alliance forces, do you read?”

The garbled static continued for several more moments before Raubahn’s voice could be heard, shot through with interference, but at least understandable: _“Pipin, thank... Abort the rec...nce and regroup...Reach. ...rials are attack... I’m mov...reinfor... column...to assist.”_

Pipin nodded slowly; the transmission was badly mangled, but he understood the gist. “Father, you are broken and unclear, but message received. The Scions and I are preparing to enter the Reach and engage the enemy.”

“ _Roger...old out...long as you can...e’ll be there...soon as...an.”_

As that conversation was taking place, Alphinaud made up his mind in an instant. He looked up to the ever-steadfast former adventurer who had even now taken the burden of so many lives in his hands. “Arenvald, can you escort them to the Wall?”

Knowing that the Warriors of Light had the rear well covered, the Ala Mhigan awkwardly turned once more to face the young elezen. “They’ll make it if I have to carry every last one of them, myself,” he swore.

Nodding firmly, Alphinaud walked through the battered and bloody survivors, patting Arenvald on the shoulder in passing before he found himself standing amongst the Warriors of Light. Alisaie and Pipin joined him only a few paces behind.

“Our place is at the Reach,” Alphinaud told them, though he knew full well they were only seconds from charging in with or without orders. “We must offer such aid and succor as we are able. Saving lives is now our paramount concern.”

“If we can hold back the imperials until Father’s reinforcements arrive, we may yet turn the tide...” Pipin pointed out.

Letting her axe stand on its own balance, Bee cracked her knuckles and muttered darkly, “It’s _me_ you gotta worry about ‘holding back’.”

As several of the would-be rescue team looked at their roegadyn companion with differing stages of alarm, Krile gathered her nerve and approached them. “I’ll join you,” she said firmly. “I’ve done all I can for these people, and you’ll be crying out for more healers in there.”

Alphinaud turned toward her, aghast at the prospect that she would be willing to back into the obvious hell within the valley. But he knew that to try and dissuade her would only belittle her willingness to sacrifice her own safety to help others. He glanced up briefly to the now-moving convoy of survivors, seeing that they had met up with and were being escorted by the two elezen adventurers they had seen earlier in the castrum.

Returning his gaze to Krile, he said simply, “I fear you’re right. Come, there is no time to lose!”

\---

As per their standard method of reconciling single-player instances against group role-play, the group had gone through the duty normally on their own and had recorded the gameplay so that it could be used as the basis for their role-play afterwards. Yang, who had spent the entire duty cussing and spitting diatribe at the Garlean Empire in general and Fordola and Zenos in particular, had gone unexpectedly silent following the completion of the duty and the other three could hear furious and constant typing from her end of their voice channel.

“ _...Guys, I’m starting to get a little worried...”_ Ruby timidly said as she listened to the unceasing sound. _“She hasn’t said anything in five minutes.”_

“ _That’s highly uncharacteristic,”_ Blake agreed, but didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“ _Clearly, she’s been replaced by a pod person,”_ Weiss joked.

Yang couldn’t help but grin to herself as she continued to exchange private messages over Discord with their group story-teller. Seeing the sequence of events at the Reach had given her an _idea_ , one she’d been toying with for at least a few months. From a story-telling standpoint, their story-teller liked the idea, but when Yang had explained her reasons behind it, she had immediately jumped one hundred percent behind supporting it.

Thus, where they now were.

Taking a deep breath, Yang flexed her right hand open and closed, then said, “Okay, girls, I’ve got a plan for the end of the duty, so when we get there, just follow my lead, okay?”

They all noticed that her voice lacked its usual bombastic timbre; even the combination grief and rage she’d been fueled on throughout the duration of the instance had fizzled and died out. _“Yang?”_ Blake asked softly, her voice filled with warmth and concern. _“Are you okay...?”_

“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde answered, “I’m fine, Blake. I promise, I’m good. This is just important to me, okay?”

“ _Of course,”_ Weiss promised. _“Do what you have to do.”_

“ _We’re always willing to help you out, Sis,”_ Ruby said, and Yang could all but envision her younger sister nodding emphatically with her statement.

“Thanks,” Yang said with a smile, then brought up YouTube on her other monitor. “Give me a sec to find some good death metal. I gotta get angry again for the first part.”

“ _They killed Y’shtola,”_ Blake reminded her.

“...Fuck the death metal, let’s go.”

\---

 _Rhalgr’s Reach, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Contested_

 

The signs of battle grew as they raced up the hill toward the Reach, weapons already at hand. Blood spatters on the ground gave way to trails of the crimson life fluid gave way to bodies laying where they’d fallen. Several badly-wounded fighters hid behind the pillars that flanked the approach. Blanchette bee-lined directly toward those souls.

The first that she reached grasped blindly at her arm as he sensed her healing magic, his vision blinded by the blood pouring down his face. “Reinforcements?” he asked, his voice rising in hope.

Krile ran to a man kneeling by another pillar, but he waved her on. “I’m fine!” he said, a hand gripped firmly to his side. “See to the others!”

Leaving the healers behind, Bee, Masya, and Rurumi crested the hill to see several Resistance fighters struggling to hold back at least double their number in imperial soldiers, all to allow several visibly-wounded sutlers to escape the carnage. Even as they approached, the fighters fell to the enemy onslaught, leaving the sutlers undefended.

“Help us!” one of the sutlers cried out, seeing that the approaching figures wore not the livery of the Empire.

Bee put on a burst of speed to reach the man, seeing that an imperial soldier was bearing down on him from behind. In just the moment before she could grab the man’s outstretched hand and pull him to safety, the enemy behind him thrust his spear forward, the head of the weapon driving completely through the defenseless man.

“ _Bastard!_ ” the infuriated roegadyn roared, bringing her axe around and driving the blade into the enemy soldier’s chest with enough force to launch the man, dead on impact, ten fulms backward through the air.

“We have to stop them while there’s still someone left to save!” she heard Alisaie call out, but didn’t waste time to make a sassy remark on the obviousness of that statement.

An imperial pugilist rushed her, and she scoffed at the foolishness of the man, to challenge _her_ in unarmed combat. She answered his first attempt at a punch with the sharp edge of her axe, nearly cleaving the man’s arm off entirely as she spun, adding momentum to an uppercut blow that opened him from groin to chin.

Several paces down the hill, she saw an enemy mage fix his gaze on her and rear back his wand, but before the cast could complete, a gunshot from the warrior’s right coincided with the man staggering to collapse against a pillar, blood pouring from the fatal wound in his chest.

Alphinaud dashed past her on the left, siccing his obsidian carbuncle on a second spellcaster and hurling his own aetheric blasts toward him. Beyond him, Masya all but danced around an imperial axeman, her Eastern blades hamstringing both his right arm and his right knee as she spun around behind him. Without wasting time to flourish, the miqo’te stabbed one blade into the base of the man’s spine and then tore it free. She tossed her blades into the air, freeing her hands to weave together in an intricate _mudra_ , and an aetheric lightning bolt shot from the heavens to finish off the spellcaster that Alphinaud had engaged.

On the right, Alisaie and Pipin engaged a spearman, forcing him away from the sutler he’d been moments away from impaling. The two worked in remarkable concert, Pipin expertly deflecting the man’s thrusts with his blade while Alisaie worked into his reach, forcing him to give further and further ground. Into this opening, Krile and Blanchette made their return: a cluster of hilariously-oversized rocks smashed into the man, knocking him down and sending him rolling partway down the hill. He came to his feet in time to catch a trio of sharpened ice spikes staggered across his torso, sending him down permanently.

In the brief lull that followed the fall of that last soldier, Blanchette and Krile tended the worst of the survivors’ injuries while the others stood guard. “The imperials came from nowhere...” one of the sutlers hissed as healing magic was applied to a debilitating leg wound. “Started cutting people down left and right...”

“Alliance reinforcements are on the march as we speak,” Alphinaud told them. “Get yourselves out of the Reach and you’ll meet up with them. Spread the word.”

The survivors staggered away to safety, calling words of thanks behind them. As they departed, Alphinaud looked among his comrades, the burning hunger for revenge shining from some of their eyes. “We should keep moving.”

Not needing to be told twice, Bee took up the advance once more, jogging at an elevated pace in the direction of the infirmary. Several explosions blossomed in that direction as they drew near, and as they rounded one of the pillars, the source became clear: two magitek reapers were firing indiscriminately toward the infirmary, surrounded by burned, blackened bodies of Resistance fighters and noncombatants alike.

Growling in anger, the roegadyn sprinted forward, her namesake never more clear as she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Pick on someone your own size, y’ ball-less whoresons!”

The reaper drivers didn’t appear to notice the oncoming roegadyn-sized wrecking ball, to their great error. She flipped her axe to bring its heavy, knobbed end to bear, smashing it into the reverse-articulated knee joint on the nearest one’s left leg with enough force to dent in the armor meant to protect it from such blows, and knock the thing severely off-balance.

The reaper staggered, and its partner machine pulled back and away to see what had assaulted them and bring its weapons to bear. Just as the pilot tightened his thumbs on the firing studs for the side-board machine guns, a blast of condensed aether traveling several times the speed of sound struck him in the head, killing him instantly and slumping him in his seat.

Rurumi, still on the move from her beautifully-aimed headshot, sprinted forward. She jumped up onto the head of Bee’s axe in mid-swing, using it as a springboard from which to propel herself onto the pilotless reaper. Dragging the dead man away from the controls, she dropped herself into his place as the sound of metal crashing against metal sounded once more and the remaining machine staggered again.

Deftly manipulating her stolen reaper’s controls, the half-lalafell pointed it toward its former comrade and triggered the main cannon. The point-blank blast all but evaporated the front of the enemy walker, including its pilot’s chair, and the ruined machine collapsed onto the sparking hulk of its front.

Bee cheered at her diminutive companion as the two swiftly moved back to the main group. Pipin could only stare agape at the utter madness put on display by this lot: getting into slugfests with magitek engines and _stealing_ them alike.

“Never fought alongside the Warriors of Light?” Krile asked him, taking the opportunity to cast protective magicks around them all.

“No, I have,” he answered, moving quickly to follow as Bee and Rurumi led the charge across the river. “But never have they seemed this...”

“They are definitely a unique sort,” Krile chuckled, hastening in their wake as well.

Across the river, two more Resistance fighters were fighting more than triple their number of imperial forces whilst struggling to defend more straggling survivors. To make matters worse, a smaller transport airship swooped down into the open area they had just left, depositing more soldiers and another pair of reapers into the field.

“Confound it!” Alphinaud swore, turning to head off the reinforcements. “Nothing for it but to fight!”

A series of otherworldly howls split the night, and as if things weren’t already insane enough, a trio of heavily-muscled wolf-like creatures—each colored white like snow and trailing an eerie mist of the same color—splashed across the river and fell upon the imperial forces as though they’d been starved for a moon, ripping and shredding apart the black-garbed soldiers with frightening ferocity.

One of the surviving sutlers, an Ishgardian elezen, looked in shock upon the white wolves, then turned to gaze back across the river to see Blanchette on the opposite bank. Her hair and robes billowed in an aetheric wind as her hands swooped and flowed through the air—both wrists encircled with spinning white snowflake glyphs—directing and guiding the ghostly wolves.

“Praise Halone!” the sutler cheered, tears of joy and relief flowing freely down his face as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted past the wall of safety that Blanchette and her summons represented.

It took only seconds for the three summoned wolves to make short work of the imperial forces, and the Ishgardian woman swiftly turned them back on the imperial forces that were coming up behind them.

Beside her, Krile looked upon the carnage that Blanchette had wrought, but was less affected by that brutality than the sight of the dozens of Resistance and civilian bodies that lay scattered about. “Twelve forfend... it’s a _bloodbath_...” she murmured. “Remember that we’re here to save lives! Defend the hostages!”

The Warriors of Light needn’t have been reminded. Bee and Rurumi turned to come back across the river, joined by the two Resistance fighters, while Blanchette’s wolves lead the charge to keep the new enemies distracted from the escaping civilians. Masya was hot on the summons’ heels, the only one among them capable of keeping up with the ethereal creatures.

The hum of magitek engines drew Pipin’s attention to the sky, and he spotted a much larger transport settling into a hover, preparing to descend and offload its forces. Dauntingly, from its open bay he could see one of the much larger spider-like magitek vehicles. This whole situation was about to become even worse...

“Imperials above us!” he shouted in warning to the others.

\---

_Castrum Oriens, The Fringes, Gyr Abania_

 

“Why is this gun silent?” the dark-haired miqo’te engineer demanded as she reached the Dragonkiller stationed on the battlements, aimed in the direction of but infuriatingly _failing_ to fire on the airships dropping more and more imperials into the Reach.

The Temple Knight commanding the emplacement stared at her a moment, clearly questioning her authority to make such accusing questions, but soon relented. There were, after all, far bigger fish to fry.

“The Reach is at our maximum effective range,” he explained. “We cannot accurately acquire firing solutions for their airships at this distance.”

The incredulous look on Chao’s face spoke volumes, and after a moment she shook her head. “Forget it. Myu, get on the pintle and get me a target on that transport,” she said, pointing to the large airship moving into position over the Reach.

Without a word, the blonde-haired miqo’te strode to the other side of the massive cannon, her gaze sweeping slowly over the Ishgardian gunnery crew. “My mistress desires the use of this emplacement. Request: Please stand aside.”

Several of them looked to the Temple Knight, who gave a shrug. He’d been directly advised by the Flame General to be as accommodating to these engineers as he possibly could. “Let her have it,” he told his men. “Tiny thing like her doesn’t possibly have the strength to—”

No sooner than those words had left his mouth than the blonde had taken over the aiming controls, manipulating the Dragonkiller’s positioning with a precision and speed that the gunnery crew envied. Several of the Ishgardians would later swear that the miqo’te’s unblinking blue eyes glowed from within as she fixed her sights on the imperial airship.

“Advisory: I am locked onto the target,” she stated simply once the cannon had ceased tracking.

“Fire!” Chao commanded.

Humoring the pair, the gunner triggered the powder charge, launching the twenty-fulm solid titanium projectile across the skies of the Fringes.

Seconds later, to the astonishment of the crew, the Dragonkiller shot impacted the side of the airship with pinpoint precision, sending the doomed imperial vessel crashing into the Reach.

It took until the rumble of the distant crash had faded for the Temple Knight to proverbially pick his jaw up off the battlement. He looked to his gun crew, who all wore matching looks of equal parts amazement and fear, and found his voice.

“The hells are you standing around gaping for, you daft sods!” he shouted. “Reload! We’ve more of those bastards to sink!”

\---

_Rhaglr’s Reach_

 

Bee scowled as she looked up at the descending armor transport, hastily organizing a plan to deal with two more of those things they’d fought inside the Wall. “Rurumi, try to hit them with the cannon as they’re offloading!” she called out. “Blanche, can you—”

The horrendous screech of metal impaling metal interrupted her, and all nearby looked up to see a sharpened, enormous metal spike protruding from the side of the stricken airship. An explosion issued from one of its engines and the thing listed like a naval vessel in stormy seas, pitching dangerously out of balance. Its remaining engine insufficient to keep it aloft or right it, the thing plummeted out of the sky out of control, the two large magitek spiders and several troops falling out of its bay. One spider hit the ground in an uncontrolled descent, the impact crumpling the vehicle as though it were made of tin; the other crashed into the Starfall headwater pond and sank out of sight.

Smoke pouring from both engines and several other points beside, the airship crashed nose-first into the aetheryte plaza, smashing through the spinning aetheryte and unleashing a cataclysmic blast of aether that vaporized half of the offending vessel in a blinding flash of light.

Needless to say, both sides of the battle were taken completely unawares by the unexpected shooting down of the airship. For the Allied forces, it was a much welcomed surprise, as even now they could see other airships desperately banking away lest they similarly fall victim to the Alliance’s stunningly-competent anti-air defenses.

Ignoring the battle overhead, Masya and Blanchette’s summons pressed the attack against the previous reinforcements. The two reapers laid into the advancing summons with their side-board guns, tearing through them, but not so rapidly as to prevent Masya from reaching them. One managed to target her with the guns, but when its shots struck her, her form vanished into mist, and the _shinobi_ was suddenly in midair. She rose out of range of its guns, her blades flashing in the light of the fires as she all but decapitated the pilot.

In the other reaper, that imperial swore and frantically reached for a sidearm to bring to bear on the miqo’te, but Masya gave him no opportunity; with a flick of her wrist, he indeed found himself a weapon—her right-handed blade, driven to the hilt into his chest.

She flipped gracefully to the other reaper, retrieving her blade and flicking the blood coating its length away, then lifted both weapons and hurled them into the chests of two of the dismounted troops below. Her hands now freed, she twisted them through another _mudra_ before unleashing a blast of fire down into their midst. The imperials scattered from the unexpected attack, many now batting at their aflame clothing.

Jumping down into the group, she first ripped her blades from the two fallen soldiers, and in an instant had surged forward, cutting down two more while they were still worried over their attire being in flames. One moved to strike her from the side with a spear, but before he could position himself, Alphinaud’s carbuncle struck the man in the stomach, staggering him long enough for Pipin to reach the fray, a swipe of his blade exposing the man’s spine to the open air.

Masya worked her way through the rest of the imperial troops with a grim determination, seemingly flicking in and out of sight as she moved from one man to the next. Her speed and affinity to the shadows made her impossible to track, impossible to predict, impossible to defend against, leaving each soldier a fatal wound: a slashed throat here, a swift stab to a major cluster of blood vessels there.

In scant seconds, long before the others could catch up to the skirmish, the miqo’te had ended it. She stood tall amidst a circle of corpses, blood coating her blades, but not a single crimson drop upon herself.

The vice marshal of the Immortal Flames shivered slightly as he looked between the carnage she had wrought, and the impassive expression on the woman’s face. “If I’ve never said it before, I cannot begin to express how profoundly grateful I am that you and yours fight for us...” he murmured.

Lightning flashed as the group continued on toward the destroyed sutler encampment and the command sector of the Reach beyond. The brilliant burst of illumination revealed over a dozen strangely-arrayed corpses of fallen Resistance fighters, including several Ananta and chocobos. Alisaie, her curiosity drawn by the unusual positioning of the bodies, stepped aside to inspect a dead Resistance archer. She found a bloody hole in the back of the woman’s head, and a step to the side and quick glance at the fallen Ananta revealed a similar wound.

The elezen woman made the connection immediately. “Those monsters!” she exclaimed. Her shout drew the attention of her brother, Pipin, and Blanchette, and at their confused looks, she gestured to the bodies. “These people had surrendered!”

That revelation brought a sour expression to Alphinaud’s face, but Pipin forced himself to look at things pragmatically. “It’s not too late for the others,” he told her. “We must hurry!”

Sounds of battle came from ahead; Bee and Rurumi had already engaged another force of imperials. With the stolen magitek reaper in the lead, the enemies mistakenly believed they were being reinforced. That belief lasted only as long as it took for Bee to step from behind the reaper’s leg, hurling her entire axe into the backside of the imperial axeman ahead. As soon as the weapon left her hands, she turned her attention to the other soldier and flattened both her feet to the ground, gathering and channeling _ki_ to her legs. In the next heartbeat, she was beside the man, the sound of her fist striking his back and his spine shattering under the blow drowned beneath the loud report of the gun-gauntlet worn on her wrist.

Even as those troops were being taken down, another group of enemy soldiers arrived on the scene. These, however, were not what any of the Alliance forces were expecting: rather than any of the regular Spoken races traditionally seen in imperial uniforms, these soldiers were bipedal, intelligent wolves. Several of them immediately set upon the civilians that the Resistance fighters in the area were trying to protect.

“What the...” Alphinaud blinked in bewilderment as Rurumi charged her stolen reaper forward, firing its side-mounted guns to drive the beastmen back. Bee and the two Resistance fighters who had been freed up immediately went after the ones that their lalafellin companion couldn’t fire upon.

“Are those _beastmen_ fighting for the imperials?” the young elezen wondered aloud. His carbuncle stood ready at his feet, looking up at its master in confusion. “I’ve never seen them before...”

“Contemplate later, Brother!” Alisaie admonished her twin, sprinting forward and driving her aetheric sword into the chest of one of the beastmen that had been preparing to finish off a wounded sutler. She grabbed the woman’s shoulder with her free hand, dragging her backwards to where Krile could heal her in relative safety.

“For the glory of the Flames!” Pipin shouted, brandishing his broadsword and batting aside an arrow that one of the beastmen had aimed—at either Alisaie or the wounded sutler, he knew not.

Alphinaud, thoroughly rebuked, directed his carbuncle at the bowman. The speedy little ball of aether tackled the wolfman, knocking him to the ground. To Alphinaud’s surprise, however, the beastman immediately made use of his distinctive anatomy by biting the carbuncle while trying to wrestle it aside. Pipin moved in while the bowman was pinned and delivered a finishing blow.

While Bee and the two Resistance fighters tied up the pair of beastmen that were too close to the civilians for Rurumi to attack, the other three Warriors of Light formulated a plan of attack. Rurumi harassed them with machine gun fire, forcing them back toward the Peaks gate. Masya darted from shadow to shadow, the sharp rebuke of her blades hemming them close together; any attacks they made against her met with a misty afterimage of the miqo’te _shinobi_ , and were met with crippling blade strikes in kind. They well knew that they were being set up for a trap, but could not break free.

The ground beneath them suddenly illuminated in a glowing blue, rapidly-spinning snowflake sigil. Standing safely behind Rurumi’s reaper, Blanchette closed her fist behind a smaller-scale glyph spinning in front of her, and the one on the ground erupted, launching the beastmen into the sky. The glyphs around her wrists pulsed black, and she gestured with both hands, sending dozens of streamers of magic into the midst of the airborne wolfmen, pinning them in place against another, much larger black snowflake in the air.

Masya stepped out of the shadows once more, both hands occupied by close to a dozen throwing daggers, which she hurled in great handfuls at the trapped enemies. She made no effort at accuracy, or even truly harming them; all she was doing was keeping their attention on her as the magitek reaper several paces behind her began to build up a steady glow in its underslung cannon.

With a smooth grace that made her look like a professional, Rurumi tilted back the reaper’s chassis and presented the cannon, fully-charged to the trapped beastmen. The explosive blast, enough to destroy another reaper, annihilated the helpless wolfmen and shattered the glyph holding them in place.

The final two wolfmen, seeing the bloody deaths of their brothers, wisely decided that discretion was the better part of valor, casting their weapons aside and sprinting at an impressive speed out of the Reach. Bee and her two Resistance allies did nothing to stop them.

One of said fighters, exhaustion overtaking him in the aftermath of the battle, let his sword droop almost to the ground and grabbed Bee’s arm to support himself. “They...they took Lyse and the others deeper in, toward the temple,” he told them. “You’ve...you’ve got to...”

“Don’t worry,” Bee replied, gently guiding him to sit down against a ruined tent pole. “We’ve got this. Alliance reinforcements are coming. Do _you guys_ got this?”

Panting heavily, the swordsman couldn’t answer her, but his comrade stepped up beside him and nodded to the roegadyn. “We’ll hold here until our last breath, if necessary.”

The group paused long enough for Blanchette and Krile to bestow the fighters with some healing and defensive spells, then set out again. They left the ruins of the sutler encampment and entered out into the open area near the Starfall headwaters. Ahead of them, beneath the branches of a partially-burned tree, they could make out the red vest that Lyse wore, along with the white robes of Y’shtola and Conrad’s beige longcoat. Of the three, only Lyse was sitting upright, her arms appearing bound behind her; both Y’shtola and Conrad were unmoving on the ground on either side of the Ala Mhigan.

“There they are!” Krile called out triumphantly. “We’re not too late!”

Between the Scions and their downed comrades, however, was a slight problem: some dozen or more of the Skulls, as well as their commander.

Leading her men toward the oncoming enemy, Fordola barked out a laugh at the approaching heroes and made directly for Furious Bee. “Well, well, a rescue party, is it?” the partisan woman taunted. “We’ll see about that!”

From where she sat under guard, Lyse looked up at the shouts of her friends and felt, for the first time this night, a swelling of hope in her breast. “Guys!” she called out to them.

Standing beside her, the remaining Skull that had stayed behind to guard the prisoners snarled and clubbed her in the side of the head with the pommel of his sword. “Quiet, you!” he barked.

At the forefront of the friendly advance, Bee narrowed her eyes at that sight, her blood singing its rage in her veins. She reared back and hurled her axe forward.

Fordola immediately stopped her advance and leaned to one side, allowing the cartwheeling weapon to pass harmlessly by her. “Hah, you missed!” she shouted, then stepped forward to bring her sword down on the unarmed roegadyn’s head.

To her great astonishment, the taller woman clapped her hands together over her head, halting her sword in midswing and rendering the impression that the blade had been trapped in cermite. The smug grin that Bee displayed was positively haunting, and it didn’t occur to Fordola that she had never been the warrior’s target in the first place.

The Skull guard screamed in pain and surprise as the sharpened edge of the axe cleaved into him, nearly bisecting him at the shoulder as it passed through him as though he were made of paper. Blood fountained from the wound as he fell to the ground, the axe embedding itself in the earth a few paces beyond.

Now unguarded, Lyse looked to Bee’s axe, blood dripping darkly from its blade in the light of the fires, and sensed her opportunity. She shimmied over toward the weapon, extending the ropes binding her arms behind her toward its sharpened blade.

As that was going on, Bee had lifted her left leg and driven it into Fordola’s open center with all her might. The kick sent the Ala Mhigan woman sliding backwards—tearing her weapon free of Bee’s armored gauntlets in the process—where she gasped for breath as the strike aggravated her already-injured ribs.

“Ggh...” Fordola choked, struggling to regain her footing. “Rebel scum!” she shouted, diving back into the fray.

Her mages had scattered the second they saw that the Scions possessed a magitek reaper; the better as not to make themselves an opportunistic one-hit multi-kill for the lalafellin machinist. All three of them determined to make the reaper their primary target, hurling an assortment of elemental spells toward it. The multi-pronged attacks forced Rurumi to angle the machine’s bulk to absorb the worst of the damage, preventing her from retaliating in kind.

The swordsman engaged Pipin, Alisaie, and Masya, with a fourth turning back to engage Bee to alleviate the pressure against Fordola. This left nearly half a dozen spearmen to assault Alphinaud, Krile, and Blanchette.

Both Sharlayan scholars were quick to defend themselves with an aggressive aetheric assault, but Blanchette merely watched with disdain as the shouting imperial lapdogs came at her. Dismissively, she gestured with her left hand, a spinning white glyph around her wrist matched by a much larger one forming on the ground before her.

Before the Skulls could reach her, a huge growth of vegetation burst out of the glyph on the ground, barring the enemy fighters’ advance. Colored in wholly-unnatural shades of white and light blue, the enormous treant turned the knot holes that were its eyes on the enemy soldiers. The trio backed away in equal parts confusion and fear from this unexpected menace, and were rewarded with a sweeping strike from one of its four great spindly limbs. As the Skulls were knocked away—one even killed outright by the blunt impact—the summon reached out with its two rear limbs and snatched the two that were still threatening Alphinaud and Krile off the ground, simply smashing them into the ground over and over again until they stopped moving.

Ahead, the three swordsmen engaged with the melee fighters drew back apprehensively from the treant, no longer liking the odds in the battle. Taking advantage of their falter, Masya hurled the blade in her right hand into one of the mages threatening Rurumi, then stepped inside her opponent’s reach and drove her remaining knife to the hilt in the Skull’s unarmored shoulder. The man screamed in pain, sword falling from deadened fingers, only to be silenced as she slammed her palm—wreathed in her aether—into his jaw, cracking his jaw shut and dropping him like a sack full of popotoes.

That man’s fall distracted Alisaie’s opponent, and the elezen woman wasted no time in slipping past the man’s defenses, coming around behind him and hamstringing him with a wide sweep of her blade. As he fell to his knees, Alisaie swiftly rebalanced herself and drove her blade completely through him in a single thrust.

The worst fate, arguably, befell the last swordsman. As that Skull fell back, pressed relentlessly by Pipin and looking to be assaulted by Alisaie and Masya at any moment, he failed to regard the threat of the ethereal summon. Reaching over the diminutive Pipin, the walking tree plucked the Skull from the ground and drew him toward it, and then began to feed him into its gaping maw. The man’s screams and invectives lasted only until he had completely disappeared within its mouth, ending with a decisive and sickening crunch.

Fordola looked on in horror as the Scions neatly dismantled her force. Her gaze darted from the fighters before her to the ghostly treant, struggling to figure out the strategy she’d need to employ to see herself out of the predicament she found herself in. She swung her blade ferociously at Bee, trying to force the woman back to gain herself some breathing room.

Bee swept the attack aside with the outside of her armored gauntlet, a movement from behind the enemy commander catching her eye. With a grin, she stepped in and all-but-telegraphed a straight jab to Fordola’s injured side.

Hastily, as expected, the Skull commander dropped her arm to intercept the blow with her shield. That action momentarily rooted her in position, leaving her wide open to the sneak attack coming from behind.

Lyse, having freed herself of her bonds, had hefted Bee’s axe—with some difficulty—and come at the enemy Ala Mhigan from behind. Instead of pretending to have any idea how to wield the weapon with the grace that the roegadyn warrior regularly demonstrated, Lyse had opted to simply turn the heavier, thicker end forward and sweep at Fordola’s legs as though she were culling wheat. The cudgel end of the weapon crushed in her calf armor; only that protection reducing the extent of the damage from a pulverized leg to a mere single snap in the bone.

Fordola’s scream of pain was cut short by the simultaneous, devastating left hook that Bee caught her with, the two attacks landing at almost the same moment and sending the Scions’ opponent sprawling into the blood-soaked dirt.

Lyse let the axe drop to rest on its weighted end, slipping past Bee with a high-five to the roegadyn just before the taller blonde hefted her weapon back up with a spinning flourish. “Nice hit, Lyse!” Bee praised.

“Thanks for the set-up!” Lyse shot back, taking a fighting stance with her back against the roegadyn’s, both women facing their side toward their downed enemy.

Clutching her broken leg in both hands, Fordola glared up at her gathered enemies, knowing that she was now utterly helpless against them. “Just who in the seven hells _are_ you!?” she demanded, hissing through her grit teeth.

“We’re the Scions of the Seventh fucking Dawn!” Bee shouted back at her, hammering her axe’s head into the ground and striking a pose with her arm resting atop the upright butt-spike.

“And don’t you forget it!” Lyse added.

With the situation now contained, Alphinaud and Krile both stowed their weapons and sprinted toward the fallen forms of Y’shtola and Conrad. The lalafellin healer dropped to her knees beside Y’shtola, whose body had instinctively curled in on itself to protect her from further harm. As she began to weave her healing magicks, she looked up to see that the blue-garbed Leveilleur was already working to heal Conrad.

“My lord!” Fordola cried into the night. “The prisoners!”

“See to yourself, Pilus,” the mechanically-filtered voice of Zenos responded. “And what few men you have left.”

Standing on their guard, the Warriors of Light watched the woman drag herself away, moving herself beyond the mountain of man and metal that approached as though he had no care in the world. Pressed to her back, Bee felt Lyse tremble all-but-imperceptibly at the sight of the man. She glanced over her shoulder at the Ala Mhigan, one crimson eye visible past the curtain of her hair.

“Lyse, help Krile and Alphinaud,” Bee _suggested_.

“But—”

Blanchette closed the gap, her summon looming large behind her. “You’ve done enough, Lyse,” the Ishgardian woman said, laying a hand on her shoulder and gently guiding her away from their taller comrade. “Leave it to us, now.”

With a last sigh—and enough relief that both Bee and Blanchette felt the need to pretend they hadn’t noticed it—Lyse separated and retreated to the banks of the headwaters, swinging around wide and away to where the healers were working on their comrades.

The three dismounted Warriors of Light formed a loose skirmish line as Zenos approached, with Alisaie and Pipin taking up the flanks, and Rurumi on her stolen reaper behind along with the summoned treant. All of them could feel the tension in the air grow suffocating; surely, if lightning were to fall from the sky now, it would have no trouble arcing through the all-but-physical pressure in the air to strike them all.

Zenos came to a halt twenty yalms away from them. His head turned a fraction of an ilm to the left, then the right as he took in their formation. Then he turned and gazed toward his right, to where Krile and Alphinaud were watching events unfold with high tension, ready to abandon their healing and defend their charges if necessary.

“Your friends were a disappointment,” Zenos said simply, turning his gaze back upon the Warriors of Light once more. “But you... You will entertain me, will you not?”

Bee scoffed. “Better buy a girl a drink, first,” she quipped, her hands tightening around the haft of her axe.

The legate chuckled lightly at her words. “Very well, then,” he responded, lifting his right arm to angle his sword point-down toward them, shifting his weight onto his back leg. “I shall let you drink your fill of the blood of you and your fellows.” He gestured with his free hand, and a circle of fire fifty yalms across burst forth around them.

Hefting her axe into a ready position, Bee remarked, “You Garleans and your dueling circles, I swear...”

With no further words of banter, she charged at the legate. As they had planned, Rurumi directed a cannon blast toward the man to soften him up for Bee’s approach. To their utter shock, he stepped forward into the attack, swinging his blade directly into the massed energy of the cannon’s fire. The blade parted the spherical blast of energy as though it were a solid object, splitting through it entirely and dissipating it into the night air.

Aware that the roegadyn was almost upon him, Zenos calmly lifted his left hand toward the stolen reaper, sending a concentrated charge of ceruleum energy from his armor at Rurumi’s mount. Upon impact, the charge exploded violently, warping the leg armor that the lalafell had turned to take the brunt of the blast and causing the machine to list dangerously, its armor groaning in protest from the strain.

Bee roared wordlessly as she reached Zenos and swung her axe at him, but the legate caught her blow almost casually with his sword, holding her strike back effortlessly. The warrior’s arms trembled as she tried to overpower him and push him back, but for all her efforts, she may as well have been pushing against the statue of Rhalgr looming above them.

“If we kill him, here and now, we can end this!” Alisaie proclaimed as she bore in, sweeping around the Garlean and striking at his unprotected back.

“Were it so easy...” Zenos responded, shoving Bee back and then withdrawing a step, forcing her to stumble. In that same movement, he spun and harshly deflected Alisaie’s attack, sending her staggering away.

“As one!” Pipin shouted, but his attack met no more success than Alisaie, as Zenos caught the lalafell’s broadsword on its downstroke in his open hand and then contemptfully shoved the vice marshal away.

Masya appeared suddenly in front of him from out of an instant movement, her blades raised high and dripping with some manner of poison. Before they could find a new home in his armor, he slipped his sword into her path and stopped both weapons on the downstroke. Left open for the briefest moment, Zenos brought his left hand in and slapped the miqo’te in the chest, a burst of ceruleum from his gauntlet sending her falling away.

“Bastard!” Bee shouted, sprinting back toward him.

“I will have you know that my parents were _quite_ wed ’ere I was born,” the legate quipped, distracting with his words to take in his situation while speaking. Ahead was the roegadyn and the ghostly walking tree. Far back to his right was the damaged magitek. Behind and coming for more were the lalafell and the elezen girl—boy? He couldn’t quite tell. Ahead and to his left, the miqo’te was back on her feet and gesturing with her hands.

“I have no need for this rabble,” he pronounced, lifting his sword high above his head. “Be gone!”

He drove his blade into the ground, discharging the charged magitek circuits in his armor both into the air around him and through the sword. The ground beneath him cracked and splintered, spreading out in a chaotic network of angry red lines that vaguely resembled veins. At the same time, a massive pulse of purple-red energy exploded out of him, knocking back all of his enemies and staggering them.

Calmly withdrawing his sword from the dirt, he looked about at what he had wrought. All of his melee opponents had been knocked to the edge of the flames, stunned and momentarily incapacitated. The ethereal tree scattered silently into snowflakes that dispersed and vanished into the night. The stolen reaper’s damaged leg had collapsed, pitching the thing at an angle into the dirt; the lalafellin woman who had driven it struggled to extricate herself from the ruined machine.

Pipin struggled mightily to stand and resume the fight, but found that Zenos’ attack had utterly sapped his strength. “Seven hells...” he muttered between grit teeth. “Not even Father could do that...”

Alisaie found herself in an equally-dire situation, unable to even muster the strength to speak. It was all she could do to support herself on one knee and a hand, her aetheric blade dispersed, and struggle to draw breath.

Slowly, and with a faint sense of approval, Zenos watched as the four Warriors of Light pushed themselves to their feet. Blanchette’s glyphs reformed around her wrists and she twisted her fingers, sending out three bolts of green-white magic to each of her comrades, recovering their health even as she healed herself.

“Hm...” the legate hummed thoughtfully as he observed them ready themselves for further battle. “You four yet stand. Mayhap you lot have potential.”

His magitek sheath spun, ejecting four ethereal shades of the second of his three blades. They came down at cardinal points around the circle, sparking with electricity. As he’d predicted, the four women immediately turned their attention to these phantom swords, attacking them to disperse their energy even as they built toward detonation. Glancing about, he set his sights on the smallest of the group and stalked slowly toward Rurumi, the lethal intent obvious in his posture.

It took only seconds for the four of them to destroy the phantom blades, and he felt more than heard the roegadyn come back at him. He spun away from Rurumi, raising his blade to block Bee’s axe and push her away. His sheath dispensed more electrified phantom blades—eight of them this time—and as the Warriors of Light turned to them once more, Zenos calmly swiped his blade across Bee’s arm as she withdrew, opening an angry red line upon her exposed flesh.

She shouted in pain and rage, turning and striking down the phantom sword nearest her with a single, admittedly-impressive, cleave of her axe. Before she could come back at him, he leaped across the field, dispersing another half-dozen blades to overlap their shocking radii and lifting his sword above his head when he came to a stop.

Finding themselves under his deadly gaze, Blanchette and Masya darted in opposite directions in the moments before he swung his blade. A singular wave of energy erupted from the sword and raced out ahead of him, just barely missing the ends of Blanchette’s coat.

Bee, having decided to just take the hit, and with electricity arcing across her body, sprinted through the open space her teammates had left, her axe coming down only to be intercepted once more by the legate’s blade. As they stood there locked, the other three took advantage of this opportunity: a bolt of magical lightning tore out of the sky and struck him, several shards of sharpened ice shattered to bits on his armor with enough force to down a magitek armor, and a hypersonic bolt of charged aether struck him directly in the side of the head, doing little but leaving an all-but-imperceptible dent in his helmet.

Despite that full-on assault, he stood unmoved by their attacks. “Better...” he praised them, nodding his head. “But lacking, nevertheless...”

His armor thrummed as it charged up another store of energy, and the roegadyn immediately retreated from his personal space. From his sheath, another set of phantom blades spread over the battlefield, but this time there was a new one in play: a green one that whispered the sound of the wind. Bee struck down that new phantom sword in passing, then turned to down another of the electrified blades.

The pulse of energy released was far smaller this time than the first, owing to little time spent charging the circuits. But it had sent the loud-mouthed warrior scurrying away like the rat she was. He was beginning to grow disappointed with these four. Though they had fared far better than any others he could recall in recent memory—save that one Doman woman years past during the failed uprising—they still were not enough sport for his liking. Resolving to finish this game, he began charging the magitek circuits in his armor and sent forth another mixed grouping of phantom blades.

Bee let out a roar as she cleaved one of the electrified blades in half; the damage she’d taken thus far had boosted her strength such to the fact that she could now one-shot the ethereal weapons. Spinning back to face Zenos, she presented her axe and stood protectively in front of the others.

“Distract him,” Blanchette hissed in a whisper from behind the mountain of muscle and metal that was Bee, her glyphs spinning slowly around her wrists. “Thirty seconds.”

Masya and Rurumi had heard as well, and were shrewd enough not to give away that they were forming a plan by nodding. Reaching into a pouch on her coat, the half-lalafell drew two fist-sized spherical objects and threw them in sequence at Zenos. At the same time, Bee and Masya sprinted forward, separating to either side to flank him.

Tipping his head aside, Zenos let the first sphere bypass him entirely, and then—unwilling to contort himself to dodge the second—raised his sword and neatly bifurcated it in a move almost too fast to see. The two halves promptly exploded into noise and smoke at Zenos’ head height, momentarily blinding the legate.

The other pair struck at that precise moment, both of them taking down a phantom blade each to give themselves room to work: the miqo’te’s daggers biting at his knees as the roegadyn’s axe met his stomach. Neither met much success; Masya’s blades couldn’t find purchase through the reinforced joint armor, and possibly the heaviest material thickness of the legate’s armor took little more than a shallow impression of the axe’s blade.

The death’s gaze mask of Zenos’ helmet emerged from the cloud of smoke like a vengeful wraith as he turned on Bee, ignoring Masya entirely. Several fulms to the warrior’s right, the first of Rurumi’s spheres had hit the ground and converted itself into a small turret, flitting about the field and firing condensed aether in tandem with the varying rounds from Rurumi’s gun on his other side. As the legate locked weapons with Bee, the shorter two met eyes across the battlefield and nodded to one another.

Focusing deep on that wellspring of inner power gifted to her by the Mothercrystal, Rurumi shifted her weapon into its melee configuration, the curving adamantite blade glinting faintly in the firelight.

A single rose petal drifted from her coat and delicately floated to the ground.

“Ladybug!” she called suddenly.

Zenos had only enough time to glance up before he felt multiple blades strike his legs from both directions. Even with his years of battlefield experience and the enhanced sensors of his armor, he couldn’t pinpoint the blurred forms of Masya or Rurumi as the pair darted back and forth. They struck him two, three, _four_ times in sequence, even as he swung his blade into their presumed path to try to catch one of the mid-motion.

The only time he could begin to sense them was when they slowed to turn around and come back at him, and after the fourth set of strikes, he ejected another pair of electrified blades directly at the point he predicted they would make their reappearance. He had jumped the gun a bit, it seemed; the phantom blades were certainly directly in their path, he noted with a touch of humor as he saw the little gunner come out of her speed form, a trail of rose petals in her wake, and hook the curved edge of her weapon around his sword to arrest her motion. A sharp yank of her arms finished the blade, and by the time he glanced toward the _shinobi_ , hers was already dissipating back into the aether as well.

“You’re gonna make a girl jealous with those wandering eyes!” Bee taunted in mid-swing, calling forth a trio of aetheric chain-blades to strike at Zenos, though they did little more than grind noisily against his armor.

He caught her _physical_ swing with his own blade, angling his weapon so that with a single harsh yank toward him and a step to the side, he sent the warrior stumbling forward again. Stepping to her backside, he drew his blade diagonally across the unarmored gap between her shoulder pauldrons, opening a bloody swath down her back. It was hardly a fatal wound—he barely even considered it a love tap—but she _appeared_ to be growing stronger with every bit of damage she took, and _that_ he found quite intriguing.

She shouted in pain and rolled away from him, hissing as her action rolled dirt into her wound, and came up facing him in the center of the ‘dueling circle’. Perhaps it was the light, but he could swear he saw the color of her eyes growing darker...

Behind her, a brilliant white snowflake glyph flashed into being on the ground, spinning slowly as a form began to rise up through it. Two parallel points of metal were the first thing to be seen, curving back and down in the manner of what might be found on some ornate helmet. As expected, the tall, sweeping fins were revealed to be ornamental upon a fully-enclosed helmet, the eyes of which glowed an even brighter white than the armored figure itself. To Zenos’ surprise, a horse’s breathy exhalation came from within the sigil, followed mere moments later by the head of an armored horse, revealing this thing to be a mounted rider of some sort.

Within moments, the ghostly white creature had fully manifested: clad head-to-foot in a caped, form-fitting white armor, mounted astride an armored warhorse. A faint mist emanated from the creature—as with all of Blanchette’s summons—as it lifted its right hand in front of its face for a moment. In a flicker of light, the hilt of a blade materialized in its hand and it rapidly brought its arm to the side in a drawing motion, bringing forth the weapon’s blade in a much brighter flash and the audible sound of sharpened steel.

Zenos knew at once what abomination the white-haired elezen had brought forth in a desperation effort to face him; even he had heard the legends of the invincible hero that had aided the people against the Allagan Empire in the distant past, only to become an eikon in the centuries that followed.

The warhorse, Sleipnir, reared back on its hind legs, letting out an echoing neighing cry that the blonde roegadyn took as her cue to dive out of the way. Then, drawing the cursed blade _Zantetsuken_ back, the Dark Divinity Odin charged at Zenos.

A cold fury filled Zenos at the sight of the eikon, and he would not suffer this particular game that they wanted to play. He took his stance, and as Sleipnir twisted past him to allow Odin to reach him, Zenos was faster. The force of his strike very nearly unseated the eikon outright, and the magicks weaved by the elezen were no more proof to his blade than the miqo’te conjurer’s had been earlier.

Odin’s return blow, thrown off as it was by his strike, merely bent one of the horns of his helmet.

The eikon drew to a halt several paces behind him, and he did not look back as aether burst forth from the cleft he had opened in the thing’s chest, spelling the summon’s doom and subsequent disintegration.

He leveled his gaze on the summoner, wishing only that she could see in his eyes the height of his contempt for her. “Neither eikons nor those who summon them shall be suffered to live,” he said flatly, no tease or taunt in his voice, only a cold fury.

A single leap allowed him to close the distance between himself and Blanchette, sword raised above his head for a killing blow. He watched the terror grow in her gaze as she frantically weaved her magic in an effort to generate some semblance of defense. At the last moment, as his blade came down, he felt something wrap around his bicep and yank it out of line. Even still, he felt the moment’s resistance, and then its end, as flesh gave way beneath hardened steel, saw blood spray into the night sky, heard the woman’s shriek as she fell at his feet.

“Blanche!” he heard several voices cry out as she fell.

He gazed down at the summoner a moment, her face planted in the dirt, blood pooling around her head, and then turned his gaze to the right. A large chain with a spiked weight at the end had ensnared his arm, and he traced it back to its owner: the roegadyn woman whose normally-chained axe was now bare. She yanked hard on her end of the chain, clearly seeking to separate him from the elezen, her gaze increasingly frantic as it flickered between him and her fallen comrade.

With a single hard yank of his own, he had freed himself of the chain, turning and calmly striding away from the fallen elezen. “It would seem I misjudged the lot of you,” he remarked, as though addressing the state of the weather. “This ends. Now.”

Inverting his weapon, he drove it into the ground as he discharged his near-capacity magitek circuits, releasing a burst of ceruleum from his blade and his armor in the same way he’d incapacitated the lesser two fighters earlier. The ground splintered in angry red lines, tripping up the three remaining foes in time for the pressurized airburst to knock them away. Rurumi was struck with sufficient force to send her flying completely out of the ring of fire, the ends of her coat catching alight as she tumbled away. Blanchette, already on the ground, only rolled several fulms away, her body limply curled around a blackened tree at the edge of the fire. Thrown out of the ring of flame as well and just beginning to rise, Bee caught Masya’s airborne form with her face, but in doing so prevented further harm from coming to her partner from a more prolonged fight.

Staggering back to her feet, Bee unwrapped the chain she’d been clinging to from her left arm and let it drop as she took a step over Masya, struggling to catch her breath as she directly interposed herself between the miqo’te and Zenos. She could feel the sting of smokey air and dirt in her numerous open wounds, but even with the force of her Blessing-infused empowered strength, she’d left naught for damage against the Garlean. Regardless, she would fight until her last breath; not only was backing down against her very nature, but if she yielded here, hundreds more would meet their ends this night.

Fifty fulms away from her, the legate lifted his sword in his right hand, holding it parallel to the ground at chest level behind him. He leaned his weight forward, his armored feet planted firmly to the broken, bloodied ground. Despite it all, Bee grinned; she recognized the tell-tale posture of a ground contractor—a _shundo_ , or instant movement, as the Domans called it—from her own martial training and many years of sparring with Masya. She brought her axe back and braced herself.

In less than the blink of an eye, a movement too fast to be followed by anyone not trained as she was, Zenos was before her, his blade striking. Her own weapon was already in motion to parry, but the force of his blow was far greater than she had expected. Metal clashed harshly together as she lost her grip on the weapon. She had no opportunity to watch it flip into the distance, however, as his backswing caught her behind the knees, launching her back further another twenty fulms.

The legate made no move to capitalize on her disadvantage, instead rising back up to his full height and lowering his weapon as he stared around himself at the scattered wreckage of the Warriors of Light. “Pathetic,” he judged quietly, his gaze slowly drifting from Blanchette, to Bee, to Masya, to Rurumi. “I had hoped that the vaunted ‘Warriors of Light’ might provide me with the sport I sought, but even the so-called champions of the savages are but dust in the wind.”

Bee dragged herself onto her knees, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground, absolutely refusing to admit defeat. Her wounds continued to sap her health; the edges of her vision were beginning to cloud from blood loss. She took stock of the situation quickly: Rurumi still unconscious, her coat smoldering; Blanchette totally incapacitated, maybe even dead; and Masya laid vulnerable at Zenos’ feet. For the first time in what felt like ages, she felt the cold coil of dread knot in her guts.

“Perhaps...” the legate mused quietly to himself, head tipped to one side, “perhaps you might be _coerced_ to grow the strength I seek. If, perchance, the dead weight were cut away...”

The cold, dead eyes of his armored mask turned down to Masya, and Bee felt as though the wintry wastes of Coerthas had unexpectedly been transplanted into her innards.

Masya’s scream of pain echoed from the mountains as Zenos drove his blade into her stomach. His gaze never left the roegadyn as he did so, nor when he withdrew the blade and flicked the miqo’te’s blood onto the ground, nor when he returned the sword to the device at his left hip, all but daring her to come at him.

Channeled by the temple passages and the rock faces around her, the answering scream of rage and vengeance that tore its way free from Bee’s lungs could very well have come from the dread wyrm Nidhogg. She was back on her feet before she registered that she had moved, pain and fatigue incinerated in the face of her rage, a fury that made itself known as her eyes instantly turned the color of blood and her entire length of hair became a curtain of golden, glowing flame. Fire exploded from her body, engulfing her in such searing heat that the drastic increase in temperature detonated the air around her in a massive thunderclap.

“ _ **GET AWAY FROM HER!”**_ Bee screamed, her words flowing into an echoing, lingering cry of primal hatred.

Her axe was gone, lost somewhere to the distance, but she was every bit as much a Fist of Rhalgr as she was a warrior. The golden bracelets she wore on her wrists extended forward and back as she pointed both arms behind her, and with a twin blast of ceruleum, she propelled herself toward Zenos. She cocked her right fist back in midflight, and if she didn’t kill him outright with the force of her blow—now supercharged to unimaginable levels by her emotional pain—she’d knock the head clean off his shoulders.

The magitek sheath at Zenos’ hip spun, and he reached a gauntleted hand over to grasp his blade.

To Masya, laying on the ground between them, time seemed to slow to a crawl, the sounds of the world around them fading out as though the world itself was holding bated breath. Bee’s speed was breathtaking to behold, but Zenos was faster still. In the silence, the sound of a single sword stroke was excruciatingly, painfully harsh.

Masya flinched as she felt liquid droplets fall onto her face, and she couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing as Bee’s aerial form passed over her, spinning lazily through the air. It wasn’t until Bee rotated again, and yet more liquid splashed across her, that she realized what she was looking at. A half-sob, half-gasp choked its way out of her.

Bee’s right arm, from just above the elbow, was _gone_.

On her far side, the blonde hit the ground, rolled once into a heap facing away from her, and laid still, unmoving. Blood began to pool from beneath her with alarming rapidity.

In the quiet that followed, Zenos heard and _felt_ a distinct snap from the weapon in his hand. The blade, he saw, had failed halfway up its length, the broken half pitching down to wind up point-down into the dirt. With a scoff, he dropped the now-useless hilt and partial blade into the weeds, then turned without further word or look to the defeated Warriors of Light.

From the far side of the Reach, a great clamor arose, and from the looks on the faces of several of Zenos’ men, that meant more Alliance forces had arrived. But after the utter disappointment of those who had faced him this evening, the legate was in no mood for further aggressors. Let those few men of his on the far side of the Reach suffer what fate awaited him. Without looking back, and with two of his men dragging the injured Fordola between them, Zenos calmly made for the exit into the Peaks.

Across Mirage Creek, the spinning edge of Johnathan’s shield bouncing between the heads of two imperial soldiers cleared away the last of the resistance, allowing Raubahn and several others to sprint ahead. As the Flame General drew near to where—to his horror—he found the Scions of the Seventh Dawn laid out amongst burned foliage, splintered ground, and laying in pools of blood, he drew up short and took in the sobering wreckage.

“Seven hells...” the Bull of Ala Mhigo mumbled in utter shock. Never before had he seen the Warriors of Light even _disheveled_ by an adversary they faced, and so to see them here, in this state; battered, bloodied, broken...

Movement from around the bend drew his eye, and he glanced to see Zenos striding away; the enemy could hardly be described as ‘retreating’ when he clearly had not a care in the world that his foes were all but nipping at his heels. Lightning flashed as Raubahn instinctively went for Tizona, but he paused with his hand just ilms away from the hilt. His gaze tracked from Zenos to the severely-injured Scions and back again, and knew what must be done. Slowly, with great reluctance, Raubahn moved his hand away from his sword, clenching it into an enraged, trembling fist as he did so.

Zenos would be allowed to walk away. This day.

The silver-armored adventurer approached on Raubahn’s right, greatsword in one hand and pistol in the other. “General, imperial forces are in full retreat,” he reported. “Do we pursue?”

“No, lieutenant,” the Flame General responded quietly, reaching up to raise his helmet’s visor. “There has been enough death this day. See to the wounded.”

“As you command,” the lieutenant responded, putting away his weapons and raising his own visor. He strode toward the downed Scions, lifting a hand to the side of his helmet. “Sabine, Verv, business for you. Mattias, get the rest of the squad and sweep the complex, then set up a perimeter.”

“Already here,” the green-garbed miqo’te scholar quipped as she brushed past him, striding quickly toward Masya.

The _shinobi_ was struggling to pull herself across the ground to Bee with one arm, her other hand pressed firmly against the sword wound in her stomach. A trail of blood and crushed dirt marked her path. She didn’t look up as the scholar stood over her, her golden, teary gaze fixed on the fallen warrior.

“Be still!” the scholar commanded, her magenta eyes narrowed, as she dropped to a knee and grabbed the other miqo’te’s shoulder. “You’ll not help anyone, least of all yourself, in this way.”

Without a word, Masya rolled her shoulder out of the scholar’s grasp, continuing to drag herself through the dirt with the point of her elbow.

The scholar gave a long-suffering sigh, then removed an arcane tome from within her robes. She dipped a quill into an attached magicked inkwell as she flipped pages at an impossible speed, finding the one she was looking for and tracing lines onto a partial magic symbol. “If you insist...” she remarked, finishing the last stroke of her quill with a flourish.

On the ground underneath Masya, a magic circle flared to life, disgorging a dozen tendrils of dark purple magic that bound the _shinobi_ in place. Once she had been immobilized, the scholar set her tome aside and began to swiftly and expertly check her for further injuries beyond the obvious sword wounds.

Lacking either the strength or the leverage to break free of the binding magicks, Masya became frantic, reaching desperately for Bee as tears rolled down her face. She finally looked up at the scholar looming over her. “No... please, you have to help her,” the _shinobi_ begged, fingers digging trenches in the dirt. “Help _her_ , please! Forget about me!”

“She _will_ be helped,” the scholar said firmly, sparing a glance to the roegadyn’s still form. “But that is for _us_ to be concerned with. See after yourself, first.”

Masya said nothing, but laid still beneath the binds, turning her gaze back toward Bee.

Her own heart aching in sympathy, the scholar determined that the wound her fellow miqo’te possessed was not so severe that it could not be handled by another. She glanced up and flagged down an approaching Serpent conjurer. “Clean sword wound, lower left abdominal,” she informed the elezen as he approached. “No through penetration.”

Nodding as he knelt on the _shinobi_ ’s other side, the conjurer brought his hands to her wound and directed healing magic into it. “She’s in good hands,” he told the scholar, then closed his eyes to concentrate.

The scholar picked up her tome and stood, returning the spellcasting aid to her robes as she moved to the fallen roegadyn. She took immediate note of the shallow sword wounds to her back and left arm, but as she knelt and rolled the larger woman toward her, the scholar’s already-pale skin blanched when she saw the sudden and bloody cessation of the roegadyn’s right arm. She pressed two fingers to the woman’s throat and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she could feel a faint, thready throbbing beneath her fingers. The roegadyn yet lived.

“Verv, I need your help over here!” she called out.

Across the bloody field of carnage, a tanned highlander woman with her dark red hair pulled back in a ponytail looked up from beside Blanchette. “Be right there!” she called back, then turned to her current patient. The elezen woman, now conscious, had been brought to a seated position, where the highlander had bandaged her eyes to prevent any further aggravation of the injury from Zenos. Tightening the bandages in place, the healer patted Blanchette on the shoulder and lifted the woman’s own hands to her face. “There you are,” she said. “Now just gently work your healing magic in. You know what to do.”

As she began to rise, Blanchette frantically reached toward her, finally catching the end of the highlander’s short skirt with her left hand. “W-what about...” she whispered, her voice hitching in fear.

“We’re taking care of them,” the highlander replied warmly, laying her hand over the elezen’s. “I promise.”

Blanchette nodded slowly, blood still seeping from beneath the bandages. She brought her hand back to her own face, and the faint light of healing magic danced from her fingers to her injury.

Vervara stepped away from the elezen, sparing a moment to glance toward the Starfall headwaters, where Krile and Alphinaud were still busy healing Y’shtola and Conrad. Lyse, growing ever more frantic at so many of her friends falling around her, had been ordered by Krile to help move the stabilized pair to the infirmary.

Tearing her attention away, she jogged to where her friend and comrade Sabine was tending to the downed roegadyn. As soon as she saw the extent of the blonde woman’s injuries, she dropped to her knees in the pool of blood and removed a hempen band from one of her equipment pouches, swiftly tying it tightly around Bee’s upper arm to stem the flow of blood.

“No signs of spinal injury,” the miqo’te assessed. “Let’s get her out of this blood.”

“I’ve got her feet,” the highlander offered, moving down to the far end of the roegadyn.

With just a moment’s effort, the two healers were able to move Bee out of the pooling blood so as to determine any other injuries she may possess. As Sabine performed that assessment, Vervara swiftly cleaned and dressed the stump of her arm, tightly securing the bandages in place. Thanks to the tourniquet she had applied, Bee was no longer in danger of bleeding out, but the bandages still grew red with frightening rapidity.

“It looks like the other injuries are all superficial,” Sabine remarked, reaching for her tome once more. “The amputation is the critical one. Help me stabilize her.”

As the two poured their healing magic into the unconscious Bee, Raubahn walked through the carnage, taking stock of the madness. Dozens of bodies littered the ground, a depressingly high number of them wearing the livery of the Resistance and friendly civilians. But the number of imperial dead, both Skulls and proper imperials, was not insignificant. The remains of a Garlean transport airship were wedged into the destroyed aetheryte plaza, and he knew not _how_ the cannoneers back at the castrum had managed to put an accurate Dragonkiller into the side of the thing, but they had unquestionably saved countless lives by doing so.

In the midst of the barely-controlled chaos of healers rushing to and fro between wounded, soldiers ensuring the perimeter was secure, and the depressing duty of tending to the dead, Raubahn found Rurumi crumpled in a heap where she had been hurled by Zenos. Her wide, expressive silver eyes were filled with pain, tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. She could, Raubahn knew, see from her position where each of her three teammates were. It was plain to see that the state of her comrades weighed heavily upon her soul.

Approaching slowly, the Flame General took a knee beside her. Gently, he asked, “Are you alright, lass?”

She sucked in a great, hitching breath of air, barely choking back a sob, and then nodded to him. He saw her head track past him, and knew she was looking at her friends once more.

“They’re in our best hands,” he assured her, reaching out and laying his massive hand on her shoulder. “’Tis no ordinary foe could best the four of you. Come, let us be out of the way.”

He stood slowly, and after a few moments, she dragged herself to her feet. Picking her weapon up out of the dirt, she shifted it back into its firearm configuration and slung it over her back. The bleak expression on her face hurt his heart to look at, so far removed from the normal exuberance she always showed.

“Our Ishgardian friend looks as though she could use a shoulder,” Raubahn suggested, nodding in Blanchette’s direction. “Carriages should be here soon to evacuate the wounded.”

As he turned to depart, a tug on his cloak drew him short. He looked back to see Rurumi standing there, a fiercely-determined expression on her face that did little to mask the deep sorrow within the young woman. “I can still help,” she said quietly, her voice hoarse. She wiped the back of her glove across her face to remove the tear tracks.

Raubahn’s heart broke for her, but he would not deny her. “See if you can find more wounded,” he told her. “If they live, help them until a healer gets to them. If not, move on.”

She nodded, and with a thin smile, he turned to be about his business. Rurumi slowly turned in a circle, noting with a measure of relief that everyone within her sight that still drew breath was already being tended by a healer of some sort. Before she could move on to search elsewhere, however, she caught sight out of the corner of her eye of the young man, Wiscar, that they’d recruited from Ala Gannha. Though there were bloodstains spattered over his attire, his steady movement suggested that none of it was his.

In silence, she watched as he slowly approached Meffrid’s body and dropped to his knees. He sat silently for several moments, simply staring at the fallen Ala Mhigan, and then let out a wail of anguish from a deep and dark place that Rurumi well recognized, slamming his fists to the ground next to his knees.

“Captain...why did you...”

Rurumi approached quietly, but she was no Masya. Wiscar looked up at her, grief writ across his face in the tear tracks that cut through the layers of dirt and grime. She didn’t say anything, instead laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him an understanding smile.

As she sat down beside him, he turned his gaze back to Meffrid. “My men and I...” he began shakily. The half-lalafell reached down to take his hand nearest her, prying his fist open and gently squeezing his hand. He visibly calmed, squeezing her hand in return. “We came to reinforce him. But he ordered us away immediately, sent us to evacuate the infirmary. When we met up with the Alliance reinforcements, I sent the rest ahead and came back. But by the time I got here...”

Rurumi looked down at her fallen friend and comrade, biting her lip to fight back a fresh wave of tears. There was no pain, no hate in his expression. He looked to be utterly at peace, the image only ruined by a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. She leaned forward, feeling a tear slip down her cheek as she delicately wiped the blood away with her glove. Beneath her breath, she murmured a prayer that he would find peace in the bosom of Rhalgr.

Wiscar turned her hand over and placed a small item in it. “He was holding this when I found him,” he said. “It had to have been important, so you should probably take it to Conrad.”

The young man stood up slowly, rubbing the sleeve of his coat across his face. “I... I’m going to try to make myself useful...”

He walked away, and Rurumi looked down at what he had given her. It was a small wood carving, large enough to completely fill her hand but palm-sized for a highlander. Carved from zelkova wood, it depicted a young woman and a child in a loving embrace. The realization of what she was holding broke her, and she clenched her hands around the keepsake as she wailed inconsolably over Meffrid’s body.

Somewhere, out there in the wide world, a mother and daughter had gone to bed this night without knowing that their husband, their father, would never come home.

After several minutes, Rurumi’s crying tapered off to occasional, hiccuping sniffles. She told herself it was unbecoming to make such a scene when so many other lives were hanging in the balance this night. Wiping her face once more to clear away the tears and the snot, she got to her feet and tightly clenched the keepsake in her hands, starting across the Reach to the infirmary.

Crossing via the Starfall bridge gave her an elevated view of the Reach, and everywhere she looked, she could see the signs of bloodshed. But more than that, she could see uplifting instances of solidarity, from the healers of all sorts—professional and adventurer alike—helping the wounded, to others collecting the bodies of the dead so they wouldn’t be left behind to scavengers or the Empire.

The infirmary, as she expected, was full well swamped with injured. It was exceedingly difficult to find a path to move between the press of bodies; with the walking wounded standing, leaning, or sitting wherever they could, and the litters holding those who were unable to move under their own power. The recovery area, fortunately, was considerably less crowded; many who could be stabilized and move on their own were being sent out on foot.

In the far back corner, she found Conrad sitting on one of the beds, looking as though he were about to get up. The bed to the left of that one held Masya, her stomach bandaged and dozing fitfully. Alisaie sat at the foot of Masya’s bed, with Alphinaud and Pipin standing beside it. In the next set of beds, Y’shtola laid comatose, with Lyse and Krile standing over her. Blanchette sat in the next bed over, one hand held by Lyse to assure her of a friendly presence.

Conrad looked up as Rurumi shuffled between the beds, a faint smile on his face. “Ah, Miss Rumi,” he said drowsily. “Thank Rhalgr you’re alright.”

Unable to meet the older man’s gaze, the half-lalafell held out Meffrid’s keepsake to him. As soon as it touched his palm, Conrad sucked in a shuddering breath. “This... this is...” He closed his hand around the charm, his gaze dropping to the ground. “...He’s dead, isn’t he?”

From the other side of the partition, they heard a choked sob, and Alphinaud looked over to see Lyse all but stuffing her fist into her mouth to keep herself quiet, tears flowing unchecked from her eyes. In the bed beside her, Blanchette squeezed her hand with enough force that both of them suffered from white knuckles.

“...Meffrid was a worrier,” Conrad said slowly, looking up and slowly bringing his gaze across those around him. “Always thinking about others before himself.” The old man gave a rueful chuckle. “Did you know that he once had an imperial squad chase him nigh on twenty malms so that his wounded would have time to escape?”

“That sounds like the Meffrid we know...” Masya whispered from her bed, her golden eyes blinking open dazedly.

“Aye, and his comrades loved him for it,” Conrad replied. “Though that only made him worry more. After he met you four in Quarrymill, he sent his men away because he thought they were fighting for _him_ and not the cause. The only life he was willing to risk was his own, you see.”

The mirth fled from the old man, its buoyancy replaced by the weight of crushing despair. “But that’s exactly the kind of man who _should_ be a leader!” he raged, hammering his empty fist against his knee. “The kind of man who deserves to survive. Not a...” His voice fell to a whisper. “Not an old fool who’s all used up...”

Dirt scraped as Alphinaud took a step forward. “There’s no logic to it, Master Kemp,” he said solemnly. “There never is. Who lives, who dies, who is left to carry their flame...” He shook his head slowly. “In the heat of battle, we can but do our best—as he did. Meffrid will be sorely missed, but because of his sacrifice, many now live who otherwise would not. And they need us, now more than ever.”

Conrad looked shocked for a moment to hear such words of wisdom come from a man so young, but in hindsight, he recognized that he should have come to expect such surprises from the young Leveilleur. “Aye...” he said, nodding slowly. “That they do. Forgive me. I had...high hopes for him, is all...”

“Make a hole!” a man’s voice shouted above the low-level din of the infirmary, and the gathered group looked up to see the silver-armored adventurer step as carefully through the crowd as he could, carrying one end of a stretcher upon which Bee was laid. “Coming through! Make a hole!”

Conrad was on his feet in an instant, waving the man toward him. “Here! Give her my bed!”

The man immediately turned toward them as Conrad and Rurumi moved out of the aisle to make room. Within moments, Bee had been transferred to the bed. As the stretcher-bearers moved away, Masya got up to sit on her partner’s bed, taking her remaining hand and squeezing it tightly.

In sobered silence, Conrad looked between the bandaged stump of Bee’s right arm, to the red-stained bandages around Masya’s stomach, into the next section where Blanchette sat with her eyes covered with bloodied bandages. Finally, his gaze turned to Rurumi, who looked as emotionally exhausted as he felt. “All of us have suffered and sacrificed greatly this night...” he whispered. “How many are alive now because of the four of you?”

The three conscious Warriors of Light looked toward Conrad as he continued, “For the precious lives you’ve saved, for you four who have sacrificed so much, and the countless others who have given the last measure of their devotion, we _must_ keep moving forward. Otherwise, it will all have been in vain...”

Several paces away, Pipin was speaking with Sabine, Vervara, and the silver-armored Flames lieutenant who led them. “Our defeat was no near thing,” he told them. “It was total—a humiliation. We were powerless to withstand our enemy’s assault. But we cannot afford to dwell on our failure. As Alphinaud said, it is those who survived whom we must think of now. Rhalgr’s Reach is no longer safe. The imperials may have withdrawn, but they could return at any time to finish what they began. We dare not remain here.”

The lieutenant nodded. “The general has already sent for carriages,” he said, “and several free companies based out of the Lavender Beds are supplying small airships for emergency transport of the most gravely wounded. Our own included.”

“Excellent,” Pipin remarked. “I shall oversee preparations for the carriages if you and yours would guide the airships to a safe landing.”

“By your command, Vice-Marshal,” the adventurer saluted, then he and his two comrades departed the infirmary.

Before Pipin could follow them to assist his adopted father, he was intercepted by Rurumi. “What can I do to help?” she asked him.

His surprise at her coming to him to offer her assistance was written all over his face. “I would ask nothing of you, Miss Rumi.”

Her expression left little doubt that this was _not_ an acceptable response.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, he shook his head ruefully and caved in. “Very well, as you leave me little choice, might you scour the infirmary for any supplies that might prove useful during the journey?”

She gave one of her usual smiles and nodded in response, turning about and heading directly toward the well-stocked alchemist station in the corner of the room. Pipin watched her go, shaking his head again, then set off to see to his own preparations.

Standing several paces behind the highlander alchemist, Rurumi cleared her throat softly and called out, “Excuse me, miss...?”

The woman didn’t look up or stop her work as she mixed components and carefully measured out ingredients. “Forgive me,” she said, “but it is imperative that I continue preparing medicines for the wounded. If you’re looking for treatment, I must ask that you seek it elsewhere.”

“Actually, that’s not it,” Rurumi answered. “General Aldynn and Commander Kemp have ordered the Reach to be abandoned for the time being. I was hoping to find some supplies to help the wounded make the trip back to Castrum Oriens.”

That got the alchemist’s attention. She paused in the middle of her mixing, and then with a long sigh, carefully finished what she was doing and set aside her tools before turning to face Rurumi. “That changes things, then,” she said. “Unfortunately, it still means I can’t help you as I have to start packing down for the move. Try searching the Barber and take whatever that you need there. I would not have our people dying en route.”

“Thank you, I’ll do just that,” Rurumi said with a smile, bowing and then turning to leave the woman to her work.

Turning away from the alchemy station, she looked around the infirmary, spotting several cabinets full of prepared medical supplies. Nodding to herself, she carefully stepped around and through the press of injured, though thankfully there were less now that the Alliance soldiers were moving them out of the infirmary in preparation to leave the Reach.

As she picked up an empty wooden box and began to carefully stack bandages, potions, disinfectants, and painkilling salves within, the pace of activity outside began to pick up. From where she was, she could see close to a dozen chocobo-drawn carriages being lined up outside. Alliance troops began to move through the infirmary, picking out those who were too injured for the march to the castrum to go onto the carriages.

Her crate filled, Rurumi made her way out through the wounded awaiting their turn to board the carriages. She approached a Flames officer helping to aid people into the cart, offering the man the crate. “Medical supplies for the trip,” she explained.

“Oh, Twelve be praised,” the soldier sighed gratefully, slumping for a moment against the back of the cart. “Bless you, miss. This should put the driver’s heart at ease.”

As the Flames soldier turned away to tuck the crate into the carriage underneath a bench and out of the way, a wounded Resistance soldier stopped beside her. The man’s left arm was braced against his chest by a bloodied sling, and a wound somewhere in his hairline left the right side of his face a crimson mask.

“Ma’am, I wanted to thank you and yours,” he said, his voice thick with both pain and emotion. “If you all hadn’t hammered the imps like you had, I doubt I’d be here to complain about a bum arm.”

The mention of his arm reminded Rurumi of the dire straights her half-sister was in, and her eyes watered once more. Unthinking, she reached forward and seized his coat with both hands, burying her face in it to drown out her sobs. “W-we did all that we c-could...” she sobbed, clenching her hands in his coat’s durable fabric. “But we couldn’t save everyone...”

As well as he could, the man leaned down and wrapped his good arm around her. “You saved me,” he told her. “You saved my brothers and sisters. And if Zenos had stuck around, we’d all have been done for. So me and the boys, you’ve got our undying gratitude. You gave us a second chance at life tonight, and we’ll not waste it. That I can promise you.”

After a few moments to control herself, Rurumi stepped back and looked up at the highlander, smiling sheepishly at him. “We _are_ glad that we saved as many as we did,” she said, then glanced at his coat. “Oh... Sorry about crying into your jacket.”

The man laughed. “Better use for it than being a blood rag, by a long shot.”

The Flames soldier stepped toward them. “Room for one more,” he told the injured man. “You along?”

Taking a last look about, the Resistance fighter saw two Allied soldiers carrying a badly-injured woman between them, her leg mangled by cannon fire. Shaking his head at the Flames soldier, he waved the two toward them. “No, let her go, she’s hurt worse than me.”

“Are you sure?” the Flames soldier asked, though it was already a moot point, as the crippled woman was already being lifted into the carriage.

Nodding his head firmly, the Resistance fighter raised his right hand in a fist. “It’ll take more than a scratch like this to stop me!” he boasted proudly.

Smiling at his attitude, and the touching spirit of camaraderie, Rurumi quietly slipped away. She turned back to the infirmary, looking about for another crate to load up with supplies. A glance out into the open courtyard beyond the infirmary revealed a small airship being carefully marshalled in to land. Another of the carriages, she saw, had gathered the Scions around it, and she wandered over in time to see Lyse load a similar crate of supplies into its back.

“Y’shtola and the others are safely strapped in,” Krile was saying as she approached. “Don’t worry about a thing—I’ll be by her side the entire time.”

Alphinaud, standing between Conrad and his sister, nodded. “Thank you, Krile.”

“I’ll escort them back,” Lyse offered, looking between them. “If the Garleans try anything, I’ll make them regret it.” Her gaze settled on Conrad. “You’re injured too, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be in one of the carriages?”

The older man gave a slow, slight shake of his head. “I’m not so frail that I can’t make the trip on my own,” he replied. “Besides, there’s still work to be done here to finish up the evacuation. I’ll see you at the Wall when we’re finished.”

Pipin nodded in acquiescence. “As you wish,” he said. “Then let us set forth at once. We shall move as quickly as our comrades’ health allows.” He lifted his hand to his ear. “I believe we’ve finished loading. First company, move out.”

Farther toward the valley exit, a whistle sounded in the night, and the carriages began their slow procession back toward the relative safety of Eorzean-held lands, surrounded by the walking wounded. Rurumi could see that the procession was led by Johnathan and Sigrid, and the entire convoy was escorted by a large number of heavily-armed Alliance forces and adventurers.

Conrad watched until the last carriage had disappeared around the rocky bend, then sighed and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair. He met Rurumi’s gaze, and gave the younger woman a thin smile. “You and yours saved a good many of my men,” he told her, “and I cannot thank you enough for that.” He shook his head slowly. “If only it had not come at such great cost to your own lives...”

Before she could think of something to say on the matter, he shook his head again. “The fact remains, though, that our forces have been completely decimated. We couldn’t mount an assault on a salt pile at the moment, let alone Velodyna. We need to be honest with ourselves about our prospects. But first, we need to put our affairs here in order. Afterwards, I’ll join you all at Castrum Oriens.”

Alphinaud nodded. “Understood. We will go and speak with General Aldynn.”

As Conrad turned and headed off, the Leveilleur siblings and Rurumi headed to the edge of the courtyard for airship landings, where Raubahn stood supervising the loading of the most critically-wounded. He looked up as they approached.

“Now that Pipin has departed with the wounded, all that’s left is to see the criticals back to Gridania for treatment,” the Flame General remarked. “In the meantime, our troops have completed our search of the Reach and the surrounding area. From what our scouts have gathered, Zenos and his men returned straightways to Specula Imperatoris after quitting here. ’Twould seem he’s lost interest in us.”

“Which brings us to the most troubling question of all,” Alphinaud stated. “Not how he found us—which is not to say that such _isn’t_ troubling—but why he chose to spare our lives.”

Raubahn nodded in agreement. “In war, you kill or capture your enemy,” he stated, feeling comfortable enough with the simplistic version because he knew that the three around him were no strangers to battle. “You don’t leave him to fight another day. Only a fool would turn his back and walk away...but Zenos is no fool.”

Alphinaud and Alisaie shared an uncomfortable look, and at a glance, Raubahn noticed that Rurumi had looked down, reaching across herself to tightly grip the sleeve of her jacket. “Whatever his motive,” the Ala Mhigan native stated, “this is neither the time nor the place to think on it. I’ll leave a token force to watch over the Reach. The rest will fall back to Castrum Oriens. We can discuss our path forward, but not this eve. Suffice it to say that we all could use a night’s rest.”

“I could not agree with you more, General,” Alphinaud stated, his gaze tracking from Alisaie to Rurumi. He glanced past them at the newest arriving airship, and then looked back down to Rurumi. “To that end, my friend, I believe your ride has arrived.”

Turning around, she recognized the shape and paint of the airship just setting down, and the emblem on its hull more beside: two crossed axes in a circle, the lower edge of which was formed out of a pair of laurels. It was one of the airships of the free company that she and the others belonged to: Beacon Academy.

As soon as the airship had set down, three of their comrades they had met earlier in the day jumped off and headed into the infirmary. Shara, the Viera, noticed Rurumi and walked swiftly toward her, her face filled with worry.

Before any words could be exchanged, the rabbit-eared woman had lifted Rurumi bodily off the ground in a hug that would have done Bee proud. “Thank the Twelve,” Shara whispered into her coat. “When the Alliance sent word of an imperial attack and that airships were desperately needed to evacuate the wounded, we had feared for the worst...”

She set Rurumi back on the ground and gave her a watery smile. “We should have known that you four could take the worst that the Empire could throw at you and come out on the other side unscathed.”

When the lalafell didn’t answer, instead looking to the ground and twisting the tassels of her coat, Shara’s face fell. “Oh, no....” she breathed, then whipped her head around to look back toward the infirmary.

Just at that moment, her two teammates were on their way back to the airship with the rest of Rurumi’s team. Ahtberk, their roegadyn, carried one end of the litter that Bee was laid out on, with an Alliance soldier carrying the other. Between them, Masya remained attached to the blonde’s side, still tightly holding her remaining hand. M’serie, their blind rogue, led the blindfolded Blanchette several paces behind them, allowing the taller elezen to lean on her for support.

From where she stood, Shara could see that Bee was missing her arm, as well as the elezen’s bloody bandages and those that wrapped around Masya’s midsection. She smothered a gasp with her hand, and looked down at Rurumi beside her. “What ha....” Cutting herself off, she shook her head fiercely. “No, nevermind.” Reaching down, she offered Rurumi her hand. “Come, let us go home.”

Bee, Masya, and Blanchette were already aboard and settled by the time Shara and Rurumi reached the ship and boarded it. Leaving Shara to direct more oncoming wounded, the lalafell made her way across the deck, where Bee’s litter was strapped down and Masya and Blanchette had gathered. Wordlessly, Rurumi sat herself in between the miqo’te and the elezen, leaning against Blanchette’s side while she took Masya’s free hand.

The exhaustion of the night’s events immediately started to catch up, causing the lalafell’s eyes to flutter. Dimly, she could hear Adelaide at the pilot’s station of the airship, arguing bitterly with someone on the ground: “I don’t care what the engines sound like! I know their limits! Give us another!”

By the time the straining engines lifted the nearly-overloaded airship into the sky, Rurumi’s head had tipped down against her chest, her worries and fears temporarily banished as a fitful sleep claimed her.

\---

Yang wasn’t quite sure what to expect when she heard the cacophonous sound of Ruby pulling off her headset and unceremoniously dropping them on her desk, but to have her younger sister come barreling into her room and almost knock her out of her chair with the force of her hug was...well, it was about sixth on the list. Ruby practically squeezed the breath out of her, and she could feel wetness on her sleeve from where the younger woman’s face was pressed against her arm. She reached over and returned her sister’s hug awkwardly with her right arm.

“Yang, I love you and I feel like I haven’t said it enough, and I was so scared when they told us you lost your arm, and...” Ruby motor-mouthed, barely-coherent, into Yang’s sleeve.

“Shhh,” the blonde soothed, squeezing her sister more tightly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about saying it, I know you love me because I’m the coolest sister ever.”

Ruby half-giggled, half-sobbed in response to that.

“ _That’s contestable,”_ Weiss remarked, since everything was being picked up by Yang’s microphone. _“But I empathize with Ruby. It’s true that I didn’t know you before the accident, but as someone with an older sister in the military, I can hardly imagine what it would be like to live through what Ruby did.”_

“I just wish I didn’t have to have put her through that,” Yang said sadly, ruffling her sister’s hair while freeing her left arm so that she could hug Ruby more properly. “That said, I kinda feel like I need to apologize for keeping you guys in the dark and not saying anything about what I had planned before I did it. My therapist has been telling me I should find an outlet for my lack of control over what happened, and when I saw how hard Zenos kicked our asses, well... it just clicked.”

“ _You have nothing to apologize for, Yang,”_ their story-teller said. _“I know Oz will agree with me in saying that we will support anything you, or any of the rest of you, wish to try in order to support your mental health. This was an_ excellent _exercise in exerting control over a traumatic situation that you had no control over. I’m proud of you, Yang.”_

Yang blushed at the praise, which caused Ruby to giggle. The blonde immediately ground the knuckles of her left hand into the younger woman’s hair. “Thanks, Miss Salem. Getting that to happen in a situation I had complete control over has been like a huge weight off my chest. Still sorry about totally derailing the plot, though. Looks like Team RWBY isn’t going to Doma after all...”

“Fat chance of that!” Ruby said into Yang’s microphone, struggling to push her sister’s hand away from her head. “If the story’s not going to accommodate to us doing cool stuff, we’ll _make_ it accommodate to us!”

“ _Hear, hear,”_ Weiss agreed with a giggle. She paused, then asked, _“Blake? You still with us? You’re awfully quiet over there.”_

“ _I’m sorry,”_ their fourth member answered swiftly. Her voice sounded rough, and Yang immediately felt kicked in the gut by guilt. _“Just... Yang’s character losing her arm brought back a lot of memories of when it happened for real.”_

“Blake, I’m so, so sorry...” Yang apologized, letting go of Ruby and staring listlessly down at her hands in her lap.

“ _No, Yang, stop,”_ the bibliophile said sharply. _“I’m not blaming you for doing this. Though, a_ little _bit of warning to your girlfriend might have been warranted.”_ Before Yang could open her mouth to apologize again, she continued, _“I’m_ glad _that you’re doing this to help yourself. It’s helping me, too. I’d repressed a lot of those memories and that’s not healthy. So Bee and Masya are going to work through this, together.”_

Yang smiled warmly, and before she could, Ruby giggled and reached up to wipe away her sister’s tears. “I love the hell out of you, Blake,” Yang said fondly. “Best of girlfriends.”

“Also contestable,” Ruby teased, then made an exaggerated winking motion at Yang’s screen. “Weiss, you can’t see it, but I’m totally winking at you.”

“ _Ah, but I know you so well that I can practically see it anyway, you dolt,”_ Weiss replied warmly.

“ _You know, it feels like we’re setting a precedent here,”_ Blake said off-hand. _“That’s two major quest events that we have unexpectedly—well, deliberately this time thanks to Yang—filled major story events to the gills with feels. Is this going to be consistent the whole way through?”_

“Oh, abso _lutely_ ,” Yang replied, grinning ferally at her younger sister beside her. “I am going to ruthlessly attack the feels at every opportunity. Grab hold of something, ladies, cos there ain’t no brakes on this feels train!”

“ _Choo, choo,”_ Weiss said in the _most_ unenthusiastic deadpan she could possibly muster.

\---

_The effort to liberate Ala Mhigo has suffered a catastrophic defeat at the hands of Zenos yae Galvus. Stricken down by the inhumanly-strong legate, the Warriors of Light retreat to their free company in the Lavender Beds to rest and recover. But the war ever marches on, and faced with an inability to effectively operate in Gyr Abania, the Alliance considers their options of opening other fronts in the war for liberation..._

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Chapter 7: **Divide and Conquer**._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. I did not expect that to run nearly so long. This is one of the longest chapters I've ever written, topped only by the final chapter of the exhaustingly-long Mages vs. Mars battle which was 63 pages long. (I'm also never going to write anything that long ever again)
> 
> But there you have it. My first major setpiece, the Fall of the Reach, is done. I hope you've enjoyed this stop on the feels train. Choo, choo.
> 
> The good news is that I don't even have a plan for when the next major feels attack will come. The bad news is that I have to come up with a completely original chapter, or at least half-chapter, to deal with the aftermath of the Fall of the Reach, specifically the fact that Team RWBY is down to 3 and 3/4's members. Fear not, I know WHAT I plan to do, it's just distributing it across a semi-acceptable timeframe.


	9. Divide and Conquer

The Reach was burning.

Her nose stung from the acrid stink of wood fires and spent ceruleum. Drifting smoke obscured her vision, shrouding her and her surroundings in a dense fog that prevented her from seeing more than a few fulms away from her. Despite the very real evidence of war and death all around her, she knew on an instinctive level that she was utterly alone.

Time had no meaning in this place. While she knew that time would pass and had passed, it was powerless within this dreadful place.

Hours seemed to pass, but they also felt like seconds. From within the darkness, she heard footsteps. While that sound signified that she was not alone and should have been a good omen, every instinct and nerve ending screamed that she was in mortal peril.

 _He_ emerged from the rolling smoke, the white visage of his faceplate seeming more skull-like and demonic than it had in life. He held one of his Doman swords in his right hand, the tip steadily dripping blood. His other arm rested nonchalantly on his magitek scabbard. Fully formed out of the gloom, he slowly approached her with the same inexorable pace reserved for death and marketboard taxes.

Reaching behind her for her axe, her hand slapped against her empty back. She looked down at herself to find that she wore only her sleeping clothes. For some reason, however, she had her magitek gauntlets on, already extended in their combat positions. With a practiced motion, she chambered a ceruleum round in both weapons and raised her arms, firing shot after shot of explosive rounds at the legate.

Yet ever onward he came, passing through the fusillade of explosive chemical bolts—each one potent enough to give pause to a fully-grown dragon—unharmed, the energy of the blasts dispersing before they ever reached him.

She growled in irritation to cover the growing panic crawling in her gut at her inability to harm him, twisting her arm in a specific way to chamber her panic round—an emergency-use round with four times the normal explosive charge in it. But when she moved to fire that incredibly-dangerous round into Zenos’ smug face, nothing happened. She couldn’t even see her arms in firing position.

Looking down, panic fully seized her in its grasp when she saw that her right arm ended just above the elbow. An uncomfortable tingle, like thousands of ants crawling beneath her skin, radiated out from the point where her arm ended. She fell to her knees, her entire body trembling, and clutched the wound in her remaining hand. Blood inexplicably began to seep through her fingers, despite the wound appearing to be days, if not weeks, old.

The scrape of dirt drew her gaze up, where she found Zenos standing before her: bloody sword raised high over his head, empty gaze of his helmet piercing her soul, body tensed in preparation to strike like a coiled spring...

\---

 _Beacon Academy, The Lavender Beds, The Black Shroud  
_ _Four days after the Fall of the Reach_

 

Bee awoke suddenly, her eyes snapping open along with a deep inhalation of air as she successfully forced herself out of her nightmare. A chill flushed its way down her body at the memory of what her subconscious had tormented her with, and her parted lips forced air out in a drawn-out huff.

A gentle pressure squeezed around her left hand, and she lifted her head and looked over to find a curtain of dark hair on the side of her bed, topped by a pair of fuzzy ears tracking in her direction like adorable little satellite dishes.

Masya groggily lifted her head from where it had been pillowed on excess bedding that Bee wasn’t using. She brought up her left hand—her right being near-permanently affixed to her partner’s—and blearily rubbed her face and eyes with the back of her hand in a cat-like manner that had Bee biting her tongue to hold back a squeal at the cuteness.

The miqo’te’s eyes took another moment to fully come into focus, and when she noticed that Bee was awake and watching her, gave her hand another squeeze and a smile that pierced the fog of angst surrounding the roegadyn’s soul. “Good morning,” the _shinobi_ said.

“It certainly is now,” the warrior teased in return, earning a faint blush.

Masya leaned over and brushed a stray lock of long, blonde hair behind Bee’s ear. “How are you feeling?” she asked, a warmth suffusing her tone that was reserved solely for the roegadyn. “Any pain?”

Bee gently shook her head, not wishing to disturb the other woman’s delicate touch. “Just numb,” she answered, her eyes shifting to the right to observe the bandaged stump as she lifted it slightly. The previously-white bandages had become a slightly reddish-yellow color overnight. “Tingly,” she clarified. “Like...arm asleep? Not like pulled a muscle.”

By the time she’d finished speaking, the miqo’te was already on the other side of the bed, rolling behind her a cart of medical supplies. “Let’s change these bandages and see if that helps,” Masya said.

Having carefully observed the chirurgeons doing so, it was with swift and steady hands that Masya removed the old dressing, gently cleaned away the dried blood and other discharge from the stump, moistened a new dressing with antibacterial salve and applied it, then wrapped it with clean new bandages.

“Is that too tight?” she asked, looking up at Bee’s face for any sign of discomfort.

“No, it’s fine,” the roegadyn answered, her gaze resting on the stump with an odd detachment, as if looking right through it. “You can make it tighter if you need to.”

With a nod, Masya tightened the bandages just a little, then tied the ends into a knot and secured it against the back of her arm. “There,” the _shinobi_ pronounced, nodding in satisfaction at her work. “How’s that?”

“Better.”

The tingling sensation was gone, but a ghostly sense of her missing limb was still present. She ‘flexed her hand’ several times, and could all but _feel_ her fingers closing together, but her unmoving upper arm muscles told the true story: without her hand and forearm, there was nothing to force her upper arm muscles to contract and relax.

Watching Bee, Masya’s ears pinned down against her head, giving away the sorrow she did an admirable job of keeping off her face. The roegadyn wasn’t fooled, however; a single glance at her partner’s stillness and pinned ears wrote plain the depths of the miqo’te’s feelings of guilt.

“Hey...” Bee whispered, reaching up and threading her fingers through Masya’s hair. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Masya shut her eyes and leaned against Bee’s hand, her sense of guilt warring with her partner’s warmth and gentle words. “This happened to you because of me,” she protested. “He hurt you because of me.”

“Shh...” the blonde soothed, lightly scratching her fingertips across Masya’s scalp. “He hurt _you_ to provoke me. And I fell for it. I let my anger control me, and I paid the price.” She paused for a moment, the corner of her lip twitching. She struggled mightily to say with a straight face, “Though I gotta say, being as I’m willing to pay with my life for you, I think I got the hells of a discount.”

Masya let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, lightly pounding a fist against Bee’s leg. “That’s not funny,” she weakly protested.

“Sure it is,” the roegadyn grinned. “One day, you’ll think of that joke and have the giggles for _bells_. You’ll probably blow some super secret stealth mission because of it.”

Her mirth fading, the blonde brushed a tear from Masya’s cheek with her thumb. “What happened is nobody’s fault but that imperial bastard,” she said softly. “Okay? Please don’t blame yourself.”

Nodding haltingly, Masya grit her teeth to forestall more tears. “I know,” she whispered. “I _know_ it’s not my fault. But seeing what he did to you...”

“I know, Masya, _I know_.” She gently rubbed her thumb in circles on the miqo’te’s cheek. “That was how I felt when I saw you lying there, with him standing over you and staring me right in the eye as he stabbed you.” Her gaze fell, and she lifted her hand from Masya’s cheek, curling her fingers into a fist. “I’ve never felt so powerless in my life...” she whispered.

Masya lifted her arms and rested them gently around Bee’s neck, leaning her forehead against the roegadyn’s. “I feel like I don’t know how to keep moving forward,” she confessed. “I know that we have to, but it’s like you said. Zenos was a threat we were wholly unprepared for.”

Bee closed her eyes, willing away her anger at the memory of that night. Willing her hand to unclench, she brushed her fingers through Masya’s hair again. “Together,” she said firmly. “We’ll go forward _together_ , and no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other.”

A smile blooming on her face, the miqo’te tipped her head to touch her nose to Bee’s. “I’ll never leave your side,” Masya swore. “I promise.”

“And I’ll never leave yours,” Bee affirmed. There was a brief pause, just long enough for Masya to sense what was coming, and then the roegadyn quipped, “At least not all at once.”

Masya promptly head-butted her. “Your jokes are dumb,” she deadpanned. After a pause of her own, she added, “But I love your dumb jokes.”

“Not me, though,” Bee teased, grinning.

“Absolutely not,” Masya replied, cupping Bee’s face in her hands and leaning forward to softly kiss the other woman.

\---

“Blake, have you ever wondered what life would’ve been like if you hadn’t stayed with me?” Yang asked, making the foolish snap decision to voice the idle question on her mind.

The silence that followed had her cursing, once again, her impetuous nature to just say whatever was on her mind and damn the consequences. A chill crept from her fingertips—unhelpfully mimicked by the artificial sensations processor in her right arm—up to her shoulders, down her spine, and settled into an uncomfortable, icy clenching in her gut. She could all but _feel_ the intensity of Weiss’ glare from across town.

“ _I only know...”_ Blake began, her tone even, but thicker than it usually was, _“that if I_ had _given up on you, Adam would’ve had my head. After all the trouble he went through to get us together.”_

That...was probably not the worst thing that Blake could have answered. Testing the waters, Yang joked, “Puh- _lease_. Your brother wouldn’t harm a hair on your pretty little head.”

“ _You’re absolutely right,”_ Blake deadpanned. _“He probably would’ve taken your other arm off instead.”_

The blonde winced at the unmistakable barb, her left hand automatically reaching over to hold what little naturally remained of her right arm. She’d wounded the love of her life deeply by even asking that question, and deserved the spite in return. She heard the sound of a voice user disconnecting from the channel and felt a little spike of fear in her heart, terrified that Blake didn’t want to talk to her.

But when she looked at her Discord, she saw hers and Blake’s were the only names in the ‘Team RWBY’ channel, with Ruby and Weiss up in the general voice; her sister and their German friend had obviously quietly determined to give the pair their privacy.

“I’m sorry, Blake,” she apologized immediately, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against her keyboard wrist rest. “I never should’ve asked you that. It was mostly a stupid joke...”

“ _But it’s not a joke,”_ the black-haired beauty replied, her voice now wavering with emotion. _“I know you’re still afraid that you’re a burden to us, Yang.”_

Closing her eyes, the blonde huffed in amusement. “I _know_ I’m not. I try really, really hard to keep those thoughts away...”

“ _It’s okay to have doubts, Yang,”_ Blake said. _“You had a traumatic, life-altering experience. And it’s changed the lives of myself, Ruby, and even Weiss as well. We_ all _have doubts. I can tell you honestly that sometimes it’s hard for the three of us to not coddle you.”_

Yang lifted her head and blinked, furrowing her brow. Sure, her baby sister—not to mention their parents—had practically waited on her hand and foot in the first few months after she’d gotten discharged, but she always felt as though the entire Xiao Long/Rose clan had merely been helping her when she absolutely _needed_ it, and were more than happy for her to take her life back into her own hands. “R-really?”

“ _Yes. We all have that protective drive, Yang. On some deep, instinctive level, we recognize how badly you were hurt and we feel the urge to safeguard you from all the bad things in life. But we don’t, because we know better. You’ve always been strong, Yang, and you don’t need us to protect you. You need us to walk_ beside _you. Sometimes we’ll stumble, and sometimes we’ll fall. But when that happens, we’re there for each other. Always.”_

Pressing her hand tightly to her mouth, Yang didn’t trust herself to speak for several moments. She successfully managed to prevent herself from sobbing openly, but that did nothing to stop the scant few tears that dripped down onto her hand. “God, Blake, I don’t deserve you...”

Unexpectedly, Blake immediately answered, _“You’re right, you don’t.”_ As Yang spluttered in shock, the bibliophile continued, _“Nor do I deserve you. Ruby doesn’t ‘deserve’ Weiss, and vice versa. Nobody ‘deserves’ anyone. We love who we love. It’s as simple as that.”_

Yang took a deep breath, closing her eyes and smiling as she felt warmth radiate out from her chest. “Have I mentioned lately that you’re the best girlfriend, Blake?”

“ _About an hour ago after we finished the Reach,”_ Blake quipped. _“You made the_ Hamilton _reference a bit more specific then, though.”_

The blonde gave a lop-sided grin. “I mean, it’s not as fun when it’s explicitly spelled out,” she said teasingly. “Gotta make you guys work for it.”

“ _And if nobody gets it?”_

“Well, that’s a risk I take.” Her smile broadened. “At least you get most of my references.”

Blake chuckled in that ‘I’m-humoring-you-but-that-was-actually-kind-of-funny’ way of hers. _“I know almost all of your reference pools. You’ve only got like seven or eight.”_

Gasping in mock indignation, being safely hidden behind a computer screen was the only reason Yang allowed herself to grin at the setup that Blake had just hand-delivered her. “Why, Blake, are you accusing me of being... _shallow_?”

The pause stretched for one second, and then two.

“ _Damn. It,”_ Blake growled under her breath.

Yang cackled exaggeratedly, summoning up her best impersonation of Emperor Palpatine.

Blake sighed overdramatically, but the smile in her voice was evident as she said, _“I have to admit, that was one of your better ones.”_

“Thank you, my dear,” the blonde answered, sketching a seated bow for no real reason. “But give yourself due credit. I never could’ve pulled it off without you.” She leaned back in her chair, twirling a lock of hair idly around her finger. “And that’s why we’re so great. We really compliment each other. You could even say you’re the _yin_ to my _Yang_.”

“ _Aaaand you follow a good one immediately with a terrible one...”_ Blake sighed again. _“But that’s why I love you. Something about blondes and bad puns.”_

“I’m pretty sure it’s actually somewhere in the genetic code for having blonde hair.”

\---

_The Lavender Beds, The Black Shroud_

 

In the farthest corner of the Lavender Beds, beyond the designated area for adventurer residences, Beacon Academy sat at the edge of the impenetrable forests. Built as a castle rather than the adventurer manses in the rest of the Lavender Beds, its central feature was a tower that rose high into the sky, its heights even rivaling Senna’s Pride, the massive tree that dominated the skyline of the residential area.

Lyse shaded her eyes from the midday sun and peered up to the top of the tower. “So, this is where they live...” she murmured idly.

“When my dear brother doesn’t have them questing hither and thither all across the realm,” Alisaie quipped, shooting her brother a teasing smirk.

The male Leveilleur twin looked away, his face flushing red in guilt—but luckily his skin was already flushed from the heat of the midsummer sun. “Lest you forget, sister dearest, I am not the only one who has sought their aid in ventures that promised a most assured threat of bodily harm in the extreme.”

This time, it was Alisaie’s turn to blush, and Lyse looked between the two of them in confusion. The Ala Mhigan woman was unaware of the expedition that Alisaie and the Warriors of Light had taken into the ‘Binding Coils of Bahamut’ and what had become of it.

“And here we’ve come to drag them out on yet another wild adventure,” the blonde remarked.

The disparity between her words, which easily could have been construed as accusatory, and the harmless tone in which she delivered them took the twins by surprise. Exchanging a glance, they began to wonder if Lyse had become a stealth snarker to rival Urianger when they hadn’t been looking.

Her words also served as a gentle chastisement. Alphinaud glanced back at her, his ears burning in shame. “That is _not_ why we’re here,” he insisted. “You both know as well as I that our friends would be quite incensed if we did not keep them appraised of ongoing developments.”

Alisaie raised an eyebrow at him. “Ah, but what is the probability that they will _insist_ on being involved?” she asked.

Her brother sighed. “Close to one,” he admitted.

“Huh?” Lyse blinked, looking down at her shorter comrades. “That doesn’t make sense?”

Alisaie looked at her for a moment as though she’d grown a second head, then the realization occurred to her that Lyse likely had no use for higher math. “Oh, yes. Numbers are used slightly different in statistics and probability,” she explained in the simplest possible manner. “Suffice it to say, the phrase ‘close to one’ means that it’s almost a certainty to happen.”

Lyse’s expression made clear that she still didn’t understand, but she shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it,” she said. “Though, I do agree they’re not going to just sit out.”

The trio entered the castle’s grounds, and no sooner had they crossed the threshold than a sense of ageless nobility settled over them. They trod on hallowed ground, there was no denying it. But along with that sensation came a sense of warmth, a welcoming peace.

The Ala Mhigan woman took a deep breath of the air and smiled broadly. “Gods, if _I_ got to live here, I’d never want to leave,” she remarked.

“Beacon can have that affect on people,” a new voice said from behind them.

Alphinaud nearly leapt into Alisaie’s arms, who nearly leapt into Lyse’s arms, who nearly crawled out of her skin from the surprise of someone who had so effortlessly snuck up on them.

Behind them and to their right, standing in an area that shouldn’t have offered him any place to hide from them as they approached the castle, was a middle-aged elezen man with grey-white hair. He wore a well-tailored suit of black with green accouterments, and leaned lightly upon a can with what appeared to be some sort of triggering mechanism near the top. A pair of small, circle-lens tinted spectacles rested on his nose.

“Greetings, Scions,” he said with an amused smile. “And welcome to Beacon Academy. I am Ozpin, headmaster of the Academy.”

Having regained his composure, Alphinaud cleared his throat and bowed toward his elder. “Well met, Headmaster. I am Alphinaud Leveilleur. Beside me is my sister, Alisaie, and on my other side is Lyse Hext.”

Alisaie matched his bow, while Lyse simply gave a friendly wave.

Ozpin inclined his head. “I’m pleased to finally meet the Scions about whom I’ve heard so much.” He looked between the twins. “By all accounts, the two of you are upholding the legacy of your grandsire superbly.” His gaze tracked to Lyse, and she felt for a moment as though she were being evaluated. “And you, Miss Hext, are the spitting image of your sister.”

Lyse’s breath caught in her throat. “You... you knew my sister?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, yes,” Ozpin answered, his posture shifting in such a way that indicated he was looking back through fond memories. “A truly astounding young woman. She had, on occasion, aided the Academy shortly after the fall of Ala Mhigo.” He paused for a brief moment, closing his eyes, and then he gave Lyse a sympathetic smile. “We were sorry to hear of her passing...”

The blonde forced herself to give a smile in return. “Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “Maybe you can tell me some stories about her someday.”

Ozpin smiled warmly. “I would be delighted to. Now...” He looked between the three Scions. “I don’t suppose the three of you have come for a mere social call. Shall I have Team RWBY informed of your arrival?”

Alphinaud blinked several times. “I’m...sorry? Team...?”

His confusion seemed to confuse Ozpin for several moments, then the older elezen laughed. “My apologies, I’m so accustomed to referring to them by our in-house name that I forget myself. Here at Beacon, when a team is assigned, normally they are given a group name that allows them to be readily identified. I, of course, am referring to Miss Rumi, Miss Saintrelmaux, Miss Molkot, and Miss Bee.”

“Ah, I see...” Alphinaud said, but it was clear by his tone that he didn’t.

Alisaie, on the other hand, held no qualms about asking the question they all wanted to know: “And so they are Team....Ruby, was it? Due to...?”

“Their combined color scheming,” Ozpin explained. “Red, White, Black, and Yellow.”

The three Scions nodded in understanding. That certainly was a measure of description for the Warriors of Light.

Alphinaud cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, if you could arrange a meeting with them, that would be very kind of you.”

Nodding, Ozpin lifted his cane and gestured toward the front of the castle. “Then come, let us wait in one of the meeting rooms, and I can share some words with Miss Hext of her sister while we wait...”

\---

Ten minutes later, Lyse was dying.

She couldn’t breathe, every effort to draw in life-giving air met with unflinching failure as her lungs refused to cooperate. Tears flowed unchecked from her eyes as she struggled to avoid suffocation, her fists hammering impotently on the luxurious carpet of one of Beacon’s meeting rooms.

Seated on a couch nearby, the Leveilleur twins looked on aghast. Alphinaud, in slightly better control of himself, hesitantly asked, “Surely, you jest?”

“I am afraid I do not, Mister Leveilleur,” Ozpin answered, taking a moment to sip from the mug in his left hand. “Even armed as she was with a pair of fully-cooked Starlight dodos where one of her training might normally wear fist weapons, Miss Yda made for a very frightening adversary.”

Lyse rolled onto her back and lay taking huge, gasping gulps of air, struggling to get her breathing back under control. She clawed at the furniture nearby in an effort to ground herself, but every time she thought she was about to stop, the mental image of her sister with a pair of cooked dodos worn on her fists sent her tumbling back into the pit of hysterics.

“Someone strangling a chocobo in here?” Rurumi’s voice called from the adjacent hallway.

The Scions looked up to see the four Warriors of Light coming toward them. As ever, Rurumi led the way, but walked slowly enough so that Blanchette—still blindfolded—could use her shoulder for guidance. Masya and Bee followed closely together—that much was normal—but the miqo’te was using her body to deliberately block sight of her partner’s injury.

Alphinaud and Alisaie exchanged worried looks at this behavior, wondering if the four were worse off than they had thought.

Ozpin stood and turned to face them, his gaze evaluating each of them in turn. After a moment, he lifted his mug and sipped from it. “I’m pleased to see the four of you are recovering from your experience as well as can be expected,” he told them. “Remember that if you ever find yourselves in need of healing of a non-physical nature, do not hesitate to seek us out. But, in the meantime, I will excuse myself to give you and your comrades some privacy.”

The older elezen quietly left the room, the Warriors of Light entering after him. Lyse jumped to her feet and met them in the center of the room, throwing her arms around the four of them. “Thank goodness the four of you made it out of there...” she said, her words muffled by Blanchette’s coat. “I never got to say it in the chaos after the attack, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if any of you had died on my account.”

“Thankfully, that didn’t come to pass,” Masya said, her ears flattened against her head. She was keenly aware of the sensation of Bee’s stump across her shoulder blades.

“Nor are we keen on having a repeat of that sort of situation,” Blanchette added.

The Leveilleur twins had stood as well when the four had entered, but not wanting to intrude on the moment in front of them, now stood awkwardly by the couch, exchanging slightly-embarrassed glances. Rurumi, peeking out from beneath Lyse’s arm, caught sight of them.

“Don’t just stand over there, you two,” the half-lalafellin leader said in her ‘command’ voice. “Get in here.”

The twins exchanged another look, then Alisaie shrugged and moved to comply. Alphinaud, none too averse to the idea either, soon followed. Taking their place on either side of Lyse, the seven Scions hugged one another, expressing through their actions their relief at each others’ safety in a way that words never could.

After a few moments, Bee cracked, “I don’t think all this hugging it out is helping Alphy’s manliness score stay up.”

Several of them chuckled, and Alphinaud simply retorted, “You’d be hard-pressed to find whether I cared.” He struggled to keep his voice even. “I vastly prefer to let my dearest friends know the depths of my concern for them.”

“And just like that, it’s back up again,” Masya quipped.

With that moment of levity, the group hug separated. Alphinaud and Alisaie returned to the couch they had occupied, and the four Warriors of Light moved to sit on the couch opposite theirs. Lyse, her seat having been stolen by them, took the single chair that Ozpin had vacated.

With the four ladies now seated in a line, no longer could Masya obscure Bee’s injury. For several moments filled with heavy silence, Alisaie and Lyse found their eyes drawn to the fresh white bandages covering the stump of the roegadyn’s right arm. Alphinaud elbowed his sister discreetly, but even he found it difficult to put out of his mind the extent of the damages that Zenos yae Galvus had done to the supposedly-invincible Warriors of Light.

Lyse forced herself to avert her gaze and look Bee in the eye. Or at least, attempted to. For her part, the roegadyn sat with her gaze fixed on the table between the two couches. There was a slight distance in her gaze, but the steadying presence of Masya kept her grounded in the moment.

Alphinaud cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his seat. “I-it would be remiss of me not to inquire how you all are recovering...” he prompted.

“I still have my sight, by the grace of Halone,” Blanchette offered, wanting to push past the awkward phase as swiftly as possible. She gently touched the coverings over her left eye. “Though I’ve been given a _gift_ to remember the night by. It is still healing, thus the blindfold.”

“I see,” Alphinaud responded, prompting a snort from Bee and a giggle from Rurumi and Lyse. Beside him, Alisaie rolled her eyes.

“My wound was inflicted purposefully to a non-vital area,” Masya said, laying her left hand over the spot where Zenos had stabbed her. “It’s mostly healed already, thanks to the no small number of healers we have.”

Rurumi looked toward the ground, tapping her fingers together in a sense of shame. “I didn’t get badly injured,” she admitted. “It was like he had no interest in me...”

Bee scoffed. “Consider yourself lucky...” she grumbled.

All eyes in the room turned to her.

With a sigh, the roegadyn lifted her arm, or what remained of it. “The worst of it’s passed and it’s mostly healed, thanks again to all our healers,” she said. “The bandages are mostly there because I don’t want to look at it.”

Masya took her left hand, squeezing it gently. The pair exchanged looks; Masya’s eyes shimmering and mournful, Bee’s hesitant. She sighed again, then added, “I...may never swing an axe again.” She lifted her head and looked out at the Scions, a fire burning in her eyes. “But I will _not_ be useless,” she swore. “I _will_ fight again.”

The three Scions smiled; not one had expected any less of the woman who could often _literally_ be described as fiery.

“In short,” Blanchette summarized, “you may rest assured that our ignominious defeat at the hands of Zenos has _not_ broken our spirits.”

“Quite the opposite, in fact,” Masya agreed.

Rurumi looked down the row at her friends and teammates; her _family_. She smiled proudly. “As long as we’re together, we can bounce back from anything,” she concluded. “ _That’s_ our strength.”

There was really only one thing to say to that. “Full well glad am I to hear it,” Alphinaud put voice to it. “Our concerns for your well-being have most assuredly been put to rest.”

Bee leaned back, relaxing as much as she was able to. “So, what’ve we missed?”

The Scions exchanged looks. On some unspoken agreement, Lyse began, “The attack on the Reach has broken the Resistance’s back, at least for now,” she despondently explained. “Conrad was just about ready to give it all up.”

“Raubahn convinced him to stay the course,” Alisaie explained, “but I believe my brother’s brilliant strategy had as much, if not more, to do with it.”

Alphinaud colored nicely. “Oh, stop it,” he protested. “’Tis a simple strategy, nothing requiring such boasts.”

“What is this strategy?” Masya asked.

“To kindle the fires of revolution in Doma once more,” Alphinaud explained, “thereby diverting Zenos’ attentions away from Gyr Abania enough for our forces there to recover.”

“And if we free Doma in the process, then so much the better,” Lyse added.

Alphinaud nodded. “Quite so.”

The Warriors of Light exchanged looks, their thoughts all but unreadable to the Scions.

Blanchette cleared her throat, and they could all but envision her questioningly-raised eyebrow as she inquired, “Just how much of the Alliance is committing to this lengthy expedition?”

Alisaie gave her brother a pointed look, which he pointedly ignored. “Ah, none. Such a large undertaking would leave the contingent at the Wall critically undermanned, and such a large movement by sea would doubtless be noted and contested by the Empire.”

“The plan is basically to send a small group over to stir up rebellion,” Lyse explained. “And secretly, it sounds like.”

“It _sounds_ like you’re cutting the legs out from under your own plan,” Bee remarked offhand.

“Bee...” Masya whispered, squeezing her hand to gently discourage her from being so harsh.

“No, no, by all means,” Alphinaud interceded. “Please, I should like to know if some heretofore-overlooked flaw may doom the plan.”

“Well, the point is to take pressure off the Resistance by forcing the enemy to fight a war on two fronts, yes?” Rurumi asked, having seen similar shortcomings as Bee.

At a nod from Alphinaud, she elaborated, “That won’t work if there’s not a credible threat of our forces appearing in Doma, rousing a rebellion.”

“But such an action is unfeasible,” Alisaie recounted. “So what do you propose?”

“It goes without saying, but the Empire has spies and informants all over Eorzea,” the half-lalafell said plainly. “So we put them to work for us.”

Leaning to her left, she reached into a pocket and produced a Limsan grand company coin, twirling it around her fingers. “Aside from their cannon and rifles, the Maelstrom isn’t doing much in Gyr Abania, because there’s nowhere for their navy to operate,” she explained with a shrug. “So that’s a lot of ships and men sitting around twiddling their thumbs.”

A smile spread slowly across Blanchette’s face. “And so they’re available as a diversion,” she realized.

Alphinaud, too, began to smile. “Given the flags and uniforms of the other grand companies, these ships can give the appearance of a major expedition to the Far East.” He gave an emphatic nod. “I shall make this suggestion to the Admiral as soon as we’ve left here.”

“And these ships sail out to, say, Hullbreaker or the outer islands,” Bee said with a smirk. “Take down the flags, stow the uniforms, then come on back in ones and twos. Meanwhile, the Empire is hearing we just launched a major offensive.”

“Coincidentally, this will tie up more resources as they search in vain for a fleet that does not exist,” Alisaie pointed out. “And our _actual_ agents can slip unnoticed through the vanguard.”

“Speaking of that,” Masya said, “who exactly is going on this little adventure?”

“The three of us and Tataru,” Lyse answered. “Though, Tataru is more along for her information gathering skill, which Alphinaud tells me is quite extraordinary. Anyway, so the leg work will mostly be us.”

Rurumi let out a short bark of laughter before she checked herself. She stated simply, “If you think you’re leaving us out of it, you’re nuts.”

Alphinaud gave a weary sigh; he and his sister had been expecting this. “Rurumi, I understand the desire all of you must have to contribute, but—”

“But nothing,” Bee interrupted. “Alphy, if you try to leave us behind, I’ll pull a Gosetsu, come after you in a _row boat_ , tie you to my axe, and dump you into the sea.”

With his utter lack of swimming ability, Alphinaud was suitably cowed by this threat. His _sister_ , on the other hand, was not. “Bee, the four of you need time to rest and recover,” she protested.

The roegadyn was not having it. “It’s what, three months to Doma by boat?” Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on. “Sounds like lots of time to rest and recover to me.”

The assorted nods and looks of agreement from the other three Warriors of Light indicated their approval of Bee’s statement.

Even Lyse struggled—and mostly failed—to keep a straight face. “We might as well let them come,” she said. “Better than them sneaking after us.”

Alphinaud rubbed the bridge of his nose in vexation. “I suppose Lyse is right about that,” he muttered. “Better the coeurl we _know_...” He lifted a finger and fixed the four women with his sternest gaze. “ _But_ , the four of you are to spend the _entire_ voyage resting, and I will not hear any arguments, complaints, dissent, nor discussion on the matter.”

Bee opened her mouth.

“Nor queries!” he hastily amended, pointing his finger squarely at the blonde, who simply grinned back.

“Yes, dad,” Masya quipped.

“And stop calling me Alphy.”

\---

“So, just making sure, but in the interest of time, we’re cool with doing some timeskips?” Yang asked.

“ _We’ve already established that’s the plan,”_ Weiss replied. _“It’s not like any of us have any real interest in playing out bedridden hobos.”_

Ruby made a sound somewhere between a snort and a giggle. _“Weiss said hobo.”_

\---

_Five days after the Fall of the Reach_

 

The sound of flesh striking heavy canvas arrhythmically echoed through the training room of the Academy. Having finally become fed up with the forced inactivity, Bee had headed immediately for the place where she could burn off steam. Initially, she had just begun pounding the hanging canvas bag just to vent her frustration, but she realized after a short time that she should _probably_ begin working on adapting her style to accommodate for her missing limb.

And so for hours she had hammered on both the bag and her body without pause, until the sweat had matted her hair to her body and her eyes burned red from the physical harm to herself. Embers flicked from the ends of her hair as she glared at the red-splotched surface of the bag; she could sense the fatigue wearing her down, knew she was nearing her limits.

Positioning her feet, she drew back her left hand and formed her fingers into the tightest, flattest fist she could manage; her knuckles and other joints ached from the strain, and she _felt_ fresh blood ooze beneath her hand wrap. Ignoring the sensation, she took in a breath and struck at the moment she exhaled, maximizing the force of her strike.

The bag rocked back on its chains from her blow, the anchor point in the ceiling above creaking in a satisfying manner. Its momentum swinging it back, the bag struck her unmoved fist and rebounded slightly. She opened her hand and let its second return deliver it to a resting position against her palm as she sank to her knees, closing her eyes and gripping the bloodied surface of the bag.

While the physical exertions of her workout were no slight matter, affecting her worse was the lashing of her own mind, constantly reminding her of how far she’d fallen and how weak she truly was. How could she be anything more than a burden to her team now? How long would it take her to ‘catch up’ to where she would feel comfortable standing beside them once more? _Could_ she catch up to them?

What if she couldn’t make it back to stand with her friends?

Tears of frustration and hopelessness fell from her eyes, hissing as they evaporated into steam from the intense heat her body was giving off. Her hand closed into a fist once more and she impotently struck the bag, sending it rocking gently before she was forced to drop her hand to the floor to balance herself. Above her, the bag barely moved, twisting slightly in place from the meager hit.

From out in the hall, she heard Masya call out, “Bee, visitors for you.”

She shoved herself to her feet instantly, swiping her thumb across her eyes to destroy any evidence of her self-doubts. At least, evidence beyond the seven hells that she’d beaten out of the bag and her own body.

She turned toward the door in time to see Masya enter, dressed for training and carrying her blades under one arm. The miqo’te’s gaze settled on the state of the bag, shifted over to study Bee’s appearance, and then narrowed accusingly. Bee offered a weak smile and a shrug, drawing an exasperated huff and a roll of the eyes, before the _shinobi_ headed off to another part of the training room.

Standing where Masya had left them were a pair of familiar miqo’te: the magitek engineer Chao, clad in a form-fitting black and white bodysuit that she knew from experience to be powered magitek; and the long-haired blonde, Myu, that was very nearly Chao’s shadow, clad in a similar outfit dyed pink and white.

“Well, if it isn’t the master of the magitek arts,” Bee greeted as she walked across the room to them. From a crate near the door, she grabbed an ice crystal and squeezed it in her hand, ‘activating’ it with her aether and rolling it across her sore neck and shoulders. “How goes the hunt for Omega?”

The magitek engineer sighed and put her hands on her hips, shaking her head slowly. “Very poorly.”

Myu took it upon herself to add, “Clarification: Our exhaustive search efforts have conclusively determined that the Weapon is not located on the side of the Velodyna controlled by the Eorzean Alliance. Enemy control of the river itself prevents searching on the far side.”

Bee clenched her hand into a fist, ignoring the stinging sensation from her split skin. “Yeah, sorry we wound up costing you guys even more territory to work in...” she muttered bitterly.

Her inhumanly bright gaze fixed on the roegadyn, Myu blinked once. “Statement: You bear no responsibility for enemy action, particularly surprise assaults. Furthermore, timely response by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in general and the Warriors of Light in particular prevented the complete annihilation of the Ala Mhigan Resistance.”

She hesitated briefly, long enough for Bee to amuse herself by watching the tiny, unreadable—to her, at least—lines of coding flicker horizontally across Myu’s eyes. “Consolation: You have my sympathies for the losses you and the others suffered.”

Unable to stop the smile from coming to her face—she knew firsthand that if Myu didn’t mean something, she didn’t say it—Bee patted the much smaller blonde’s shoulder. “Thanks, Myu,” she said. “I appreciate it, and I’m sure the others do, too.”

Chao smiled fondly at the scene, then her face dropped to a slight frown. “Would that we had made it in time...” She shook her head. “Nevertheless, even one such as I does not have the power to change the past. All we can do is look toward the future.”

From somewhere, Bee knew not where, Chao produced a slim metal case adorned with the winged hourglass emblem of her magitek company. It looked to be a weapon case, and Bee would have expected no less from the Misriah founder.

“I don’t think a weapon is going to solve my problems,” Bee said flatly, pressing the ice crystal against a particularly sore spot on her collarbone.

The magitek engineer gave one of her infuriatingly-smug grins, the kind that said she was ten steps ahead of everyone else and waiting for them to catch up. “This is no mere weapon, my dear,” she boasted. “No mere weapon.” There was a brief pause. “It’s also not a Gouf.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind about that.”

Bee eyed the case warily. “If it’s not a weapon, then what is it?”

With a dramatic flourish, Chao unsnapped hidden latches and let the front of the case fall forward. Inside, resting on padded cushioning, lay benignly a metallic right arm. Though she didn’t know its exact dimensions, it seemed at a glance to be a perfect match to her missing limb.

She looked up, suspicious lilac eyes meeting observant heterochromatic ones. “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s called a prosthetic,” the miqo’te answered in a tone one might use to educate a child. “I know it’s a big word, but try it with me—”

“I _know_ what the hells it is,” Bee snapped, her eyes flashing red for a moment. Even angered as she was, the sudden tension appearing in Myu’s posture—ready to defend her maker against _any_ threat—was not lost on her.

The roegadyn sighed, rubbing the coolness of the crystal across her forehead. “Look, I appreciate the gesture,” she said, “but just having a hunk of metal to make me feel normal again isn’t going to solve my problems.”

Chao gave her a look she was more accustomed to seeing from Blanchette: that ‘did you really just say something that stupid’ look. “Knowing full well that I built Myu to my own design, and am now on my third incarnation of humanoid automata design, do you really think that it’s _just_ a hunk of metal?”

“There’s a bit of a difference between working limbs for real people and working limbs for metal people,” Bee remarked, then flicked her gaze to Myu. “No offense.”

The magitek girl tilted her head to one side, adopting the most adorable expression of confusion. Then one of her ears flicked, and it was all Bee could do to contain herself and not squee at the cuteness.

Myu righted her head and said, “Interjection: The two fields are more similar than you may think. The difference lies primarily in creating an interface that is delicate enough for soft, fleshy bits.”

Bee grinned, feeling as though she’d just been subtly insulted, but amused by it nonetheless.

“Addendum: My mistress is actually quite skilled in the creation of advanced prosthetics,” Myu explained. “It was one such device that secured the funding necessary for Misriah to be formed.” She tipped her head to the side again. “Conclusion, Included Wordplay: You are in the best of hands.”

In the silence that followed, Chao covered her mouth with a hand to hold in her laughter, and Bee blinked slowly several times in exasperation at Myu. The artificial miqo’te looked between the two.

“Query: Was that not correct?” she asked. “I have observed that Mistress often enjoys employing subtle wordplay in conversation.”

“The key there is ‘subtle,’” Bee said. “It doesn’t work when you tell people it’s coming.”

“I see.” The pattern of light in her eyes shifted. “Statement: I shall endeavor to provide sufficient subtlety in the future.”

Smirking, Bee turned her attention to Chao. “So... What’s the damages?”

The miqo’te shook her head. “Consider it even.” She held up a hand before Bee could complain. “Think of it as commission for all of the field testing you’ll be doing. This is, after all, an experimental heavy-duty prosthetic for adventurers. If it can survive the Warrior of Light, it can survive anything. So don’t think of it as a handout.”

The roegadyn squinted at the shorter woman, but the latter kept an utterly straight face, making it impossible to determine if the pun had been intentional.

That is, until Myu piped in, “Observation: That was an example of Mistress’ fondness for wordplay.”

Bee glanced between the two miqo’te. “Haven’t you taught her not to explain the joke?”

Chao shrugged. “With varying levels of success. So!” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s talk surgery. I have a chirurgeon available experienced in installing my prosthetics.”

“Please don’t call it ‘installing’...”

\---

_Seven days after the Fall of the Reach_

 

Bee awoke in the infirmary of the Academy for the fifth time in recent memory. The room was as similar as ever; only the occupants were different. The rest of her team had been politely barred for the duration of the surgery and start of her recovery, enforced by Myu standing guard outside the door. Within, Chao observed as the chirurgeon—a dark-skinned Keeper male by the name of Keero Ganajai with a genial bedside manner—checked the site of the surgery.

“Good morning, Miss Bee,” he said, carefully peeling away the new bandages around the stump. “Let’s just see how everything is looking...”

Where before a scarred nub of flesh indicated the end of her natural arm, the site was now covered by a polished gold metal cap. Carefully lifting her arm, Keero inspected the locations where the metal and flesh were connected together.

“Everything is looking good at this end,” he said. “No infections, everything has healed together nicely.” Carefully lowering her arm back to rest on a pillow, he looked her in the eye. “Any nausea or dizziness?”

“No, I feel fine,” she answered, shaking her head and not suffering any ill effects.

Keero nodded. “Then my work is over.” He stepped back and clapped the other miqo’te on the shoulder. “Your turn, Miss Chao.”

The magitek engineer grinned. “Excellent work as always, Keero.” She turned away and lifted the prosthetic from where it rested in its case, gently balancing it between both hands as she turned to face Bee once more. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” the roegadyn answered with a half-shrug, raising her arm so it could be accessed. She eyeballed the new limb warily. “I gotta wear any kind of harness or anything?”

Shaking her head, Chao approached her side. “It weighs no more than a natural arm would, and its weight is borne entirely—and comfortably—by the connection point.”

She held the arm at a slightly outward-twisted angle, then pressed its open end firmly against the metal cap and twisted it in, toward Bee’s body. A series of metallic clicks sounded from where metal met metal, presumably latching the device in place, causing a faint tingle to race up her spine.

A final, louder click sounded as it locked fully into position, resting the way an arm normally should. As soon as the sound was made, sensation and information began to flood her brain from the connection point, a sort of chill that elicited a brief shiver from her.

“A sudden surge of sensation is normal,” the miqo’te said, easing Bee’s concerns slightly. “It should pass soon, and there is no concern unless it persists or a headache develops.”

Bee closed her eyes to wait out the sensation. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said, before Chao could be alarmed. “Just give me a second.”

After a few moments, she no longer felt as though she were drowning in sensory information, and slowly opened her eyes. She met Chao’s gaze to let her know she was ready.

“Well, go on,” the magitek genius prompted, a sly smile on her face. “Try to move it.”

Bee stared down at her new arm, concentrating intensely. She felt a curious tingle in her arm, then after several moments, her ring finger twitched. Shortly thereafter, the other digits began to twitch as well, until slowly she curled her fingers into a loose fist.

“Amazing,” Chao said, the warmth of her smile showcasing her pride in the blonde’s efforts. “Any pain or odd sensation?”

Shaking her head, Bee stared with rapt attention at the mechanical hand as she moved her prosthetic fingers in random sequence. “No, it’s just... unused to it.”

The miqo’te nodded. “That will pass in time as you become accustomed to it.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, ideally, we would spend several moons working you through physical therapy until the prosthetic is as comfortable to you as your own body. Unfortunately, I must needs return to the hunt for Omega, and you certainly have your own adventures to tend to as well.”

She turned away and beckoned forward the one person who had been sitting idly and silently in the corner of the room the entire time: a red haired hyuran woman with pale skin and freckles, wearing a plain cream dress with green trim and black thighboots.

A bright smile forming on her face, the woman skipped—literally skipped—to Bee’s bedside and gave a wide, friendly wave. “Sal-u- _tations_!” she greeted exuberantly. “My name is Penelope Poleman, and I will be assisting you with your physical therapy. I look forward to working with you, and I hope that we can be friends!”

Chao patted the ginger on the back and smiled fondly at her bright personality. “I’ll be able to monitor your progress through Penelope, but she’s more than capable of handling matters on her own,” the miqo’te explained. “And she can also repair nearly any inevitable catastrophic damage you inflict on it.”

Laughing nervously at the all-too-accurate prediction, Bee paused when she realized that Chao had said she’d be able to monitor _through_ Penelope. She look a closer look at the hyur’s green eyes and realized that, sure enough, she possessed the exceptionally bright—nearly glowing—eyes that were a hallmark of the engineer’s robotic creations.

Bee smiled at Penelope. “Well, take good care of me and we’ll be fast friends in no time.”

The sheer joy that lit up the ginger automata’s face could have rivaled the very sun.

\---

 _Mealvaan’s Gate, Limsa Lominsa  
_ _Ten days after the Fall of the Reach_

 

As requested by Alphinaud, the Scions gathered at Limsa’s ferry docks, ready for their long voyage to the Far East. Tataru, they had been told, had procured them passage on a pirate vessel known as the _Misery_ , flagship of the _Kraken’s Arms_ pirate fleet, captained by an elezen who may or may not have been the missing heir of House Durendaire, who may or may not have been threatened with Tataru’s silence on said matter in exchange for their passage. All in all, the Warriors of Light regretted not having been present for _that_ particular meeting.

The four of them carried only a single shapeless bag filled primarily with spare clothes and absolute essentials; even Blanchette had learned the value of traveling light from the years spent with her comrades. In addition to their carry-alls, Rurumi and Blanchette both also had with them long, thin crates that strongly suggested ‘weapon’, adorned with the symbol of the Skysteel Manufactory.

The streets of the city were packed, far more than usual, due to the celebratory atmosphere in place as a result of the imminent launch of the ‘Eorzean Expeditionary Fleet.’ Flags and banners of all four city-states decorated every conceivable location, and citizens from throughout Eorzea lined the docks and streets, cheering for their nation’s soldiers as they boarded the Maelstrom’s ships to take the fight to the Empire in the Far East.

Under the cover of the festivities, the Warriors of Light were met in a quiet corner of the ferry docks by Lyse, Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Tataru. The four Scions took in the sight of their oncoming companions, mentally comparing their appearance to the injuries they knew that the four were still nursing. Masya’s wound was hidden by her clothing, and Bee wore a cloak to cover her right arm and shoulder, but Blanchette did not bother to hide her injury; in fact, it seemed as though she wore it as a mark of pride: a perfectly-vertical scar over her left eye that extended from her hairline to just below her eye.

As they watched her, it became clear that the near-miss to her life—and the ‘gift’ it had left behind—did nothing to hinder the Ishgardian woman in the slightest. Her gaze flicked between them, noticing they were all staring at her, and she pinched the bridge of her nose in slight irritation.

“As you can see, I am none the worse for wear for nearly having my head taken off by that ogre,” she said, deciding to take the proverbial bull by the horns. She gestured toward her roegadyn comrade and tipped her head in the blonde’s direction. “Thank you, once again, Bee, for ensuring that he _didn’t_ take my head. And if he thinks I’ll be the same helpless summoner he faced before, he’ll be in for quite a rude awakening.”

“Might that have something to do with that strange case you’re carrying?” Alphinaud asked.

“It might,” Blanchette answered with a smirk, but offered no further explanation.

Just then, Penelope finally managed to free herself from the crowds in the streets and make her way to join the others. She, too, carried a single carry-all, though hers was smaller than the others’. “It is quite a spectacle here!” she proclaimed as she stopped beside them. “For a moment, I was afraid I would miss the ship.”

Tataru looked up curiously at the newcomer. “Am I to presume this is that mystery extra traveler?” she asked. At Rurumi’s nod, she added, “Well, you told me to ensure an extra berthing, but you’ve yet to properly introduce us!”

Bee chuckled nervously and adjusted her bag’s strap with her left hand.

Smiling happily, Penelope gave the wide, sweeping wave that was apparently her trademark. “Sal-u- _tations_ , Scions of the Seventh Dawn!” she greeted them. “My name is Penelope Poleman, and I have been tasked by Mistress Lingshen to aid Friend Bee in her physical therapy.” She looked about between the other Scions. “There is no need for introductions on your parts, for I have been thoroughly informed about the Scions from the stories that the Warriors of Light have told.”

Alisaie looked to the aforementioned Warriors and narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. “All glowing tales of our daring and skill, I would imagine,” she joked.

“Try the most embarrassing stories we could remember _or_ make up,” Masaya remarked.

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Many of them were quite humorous,” she agreed.

Alphinaud cleared his throat emphatically. “ _You know_ , I had heard a rumor that Miss Lingshen had created some sort of prosthesis for Bee,” he said, hoping to divert attention away from any of the mentioned stories.

“Has she?” Alisaie allowed, turning a grin on the roegadyn. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense.”

With an overdramatic sigh—and a clearly-practiced motion—Bee flipped the cloak over her shoulder and displayed her arm for them to see. The previously-unadorned plain metal had been painted yellow and black, with a matte coating so it did not gleam in the sunlight. The fact was missed on absolutely no one that the colors of her arm matched the traditional colors of herself and Masya.

Predictably, the Scions crowded in around her to get a better look at the device, all but knocking aside the other three Warriors of Light as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the prosthetic. Bee allowed it carry on for a few moments, turning her arm back and forth to allow them to get a good look at it. After a few more moments, however, she irritably shooed them away.

“Alright, alright, let me breath, you rowdy pack of children,” she griped.

Alphinaud coughed lightly, embarrassed by his lack of composure. “Forgive me, but that is quite the extraordinary example of craftsmanship,” he said, to which the others nodded in agreement. “Miss Lingshen is truly a master of her craft. In any event, now is most certainly the best time to proceed aboard the _Misery_ given the distraction provided by the Admiral’s launching parade.”

The young elezen tipped his head toward a roegadyn sailor standing conspicuously nearby. “Our ‘spice-trading’ friends have completed their preparations,” he said. “Assuming that you all have completed yours—and it most certainly looks as such—you may inform the deckhand that we are ready to depart.”

Rurumi turned on her heel at once—nearly taking out Tataru with the length of her nonspecified case—and strode up to the sailor, waving up at him.

The roegadyn, having been listening in on the Scions’ conversation, gave her a friendly smirk and a half-wave back. “All set, lass? I’ll see the lot of you to the ship if so.”

“We sure are!” the half-lalafell answered, giving him a thumbs-up gesture.

Laughing at her exuberance, the sailor stood up from where he’d been leaning on a gate post and beckoned the Scions after him. “Right this way, then, ladies and gents. And mind the gap.”

Following after the sailor, the Scions departed through the ferry gate. Beyond, taking up a large portion of dock space, was the four-masted galleon vessel _Misery_ , made notable as the flagship of the _Kraken’s Arms_ fleet by way of the multi-limbed bowsprit dominating the fore of the vessel. Standing at the entrance ramp, the blue-garbed duskwight captain, Captain Carvallain, lifted a hand in greeting.

“Well met, honored guests, and good timing,” he said. “A fair wind blows, and I mean to follow it.”

“Good afternoon to you as well, Captain,” Alphinaud responded. “I trust that we are in good readiness, then?”

“Indeed, we are,” the captain said, nodding. As if in afterthought, he snapped his fingers and then raised his index finger. “Ah, before I forget, I feel obligated to inform you that the journey may be a slight bit more crowded than anticipated.”

Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It seems as though _everyone_ would like to go to the Far East, these days,” Carvallain said with a touch of annoyance, shrugging his shoulders. “Shortly after our...” His gaze slipped sideways and down to Tataru. “... _amicable_ arrangement, some half-dozen Domans bartered passage to the East as well. What was it they called themselves? Sam... _ray_? Sam...”

“Samurai?” Lyse helpfully supplied. At the looks of surprise from her comrades, she hastily defended herself, “What? I listen, sometimes.”

“Yes, that one,” Carvallain nodded. “Mayhaps the war of revolution in Gyr Abania has rekindled the hopes of freedom for their own distant home.” The elezen shrugged again. “Who knows? I merely see the potential for profit in the matter.”

Bee glanced behind her to see that Alisaie, Rurumi, and Blanchette had stopped to talk to Urianger. She looked at Masya beside her. “Who do you think they are?” she asked quietly.

The miqo’te shook her head. “There’s no telling. Far too many refugee groups have made the crossing to know who might be going back, and why.”

Nodding in agreement, Bee said, “Let’s go check them out.”

Alphinaud tapped the roegadyn lightly on her elbow, catching her attention. “Consider it only a suggestion,” he began, “but it may be best for us to remain belowdecks until we are out at sea. After all, I would rather not have Zenos learn we’ve set out and have three or more moons to ready a welcoming party for us. Far better for him to learn after the fact and have to rush to react to us.”

“No problem here,” Bee answered, clapping him on the shoulder. “Unless we start a fight in there. Then all bets are off.”

Carvallain frowned. “Do _not_ blow holes in my ship.”

“We’ll try,” Bee said in a manner that did not engender confidence, as she and Masya passed between the captain and the deckhand that had brought them there.

Once within the darkened confines of the ship’s lower decks, the _shinobi_ passed her bag to Bee and vanished into the shadows, creeping toward the sounds coming from the quarters. Trusting her to her work, the roegadyn spent a minute or two searching for an out-of-the-way looking section of ship to stow their bags away.

No sooner had she done so, a muffled thump came from further within the ship. Raising an eyebrow, and noting the utter lack of any of Masya’s traditional alert sounds, Bee clenched her fists and stalked down the narrow corridors.

Turning a corner, she came upon one of the last scenes she expected to find: Masya pinned to an interior wall of the ship by a petite hyuran woman in dark clothing, the point of the woman’s elbow pressed to the top of Masya’s spine and a short-bladed Eastern sword threateningly pointed at her liver. The woman’s hand, curved around Masya’s head and clamped over her mouth, had prevented her from calling out.

Before Bee could step forward to engage the unknown woman, she felt another sword’s tip touch her spine. A man’s voice said, “I wouldn’t.”

Opening her hands, Bee raised them calmly away from her sides, her eyes darting about the corridor as she considered her options. None immediately presenting themselves, she decided to resort to the tried and true method of buying time. “Who are you people?” she asked pointedly. “Imperial assassins?”

The hyuran woman snorted humorously. The man was not so subtle in his open laughter. “If I had a gil for every time I’ve been accused of _that_...” he said between laughter. His sword arm, Bee noticed, remained completely still. After a long pause, he concluded, “...I’d have a gil.”

A door several paces behind the man opened, and a woman’s voice demanded, “What is going on out here?” There was a choked-off sound, as though the woman had done a double-take at what she saw, and then she hissed, “ _Seno!_ Do you _know_ who you have at swordpoint?”

After a pause, the man—Seno—answered, “Someone who could break me in half over her knee if I hadn’t gotten the drop on her?”

The woman made a sound of strangled anger— _that_ was a sound that Bee would recognize anywhere—and said, “Put that away. She is a _Warrior of Light_. You as well, Kazue.”

Bee felt the sword leave its threatening position, and she saw the other woman step away from Masya and sheathe her blade. That woman smirked in amusement and remarked, “Not every day I get the drop on one of the saviors of Eorzea, _de gozaru_.”

Taking her moment, Bee stepped forward, spun, and immediately sent a left hook at her former captor’s face. He either saw it coming or was exceedingly fast, ducking under the strike and letting it splinter the wall at the height of his head.

The man glanced at the hole in the wood and let out a whistle of appreciation. “Yeah, I definitely called that,” he said, tipping his head in recognition of Bee’s power. “Any straight fight I got into with you would consist of two hits: you hit me, I hit the floor.”

Bee smirked and cracked her knuckles, ever appreciative of any such recognition of her strength. “Damn right,” she said. “Now you didn’t answer my question. Who in the seven hells are you?”

Before the man could answer, the second woman stepped forward. She was a tall woman, only a head shorter than Bee herself, her features marking her as obviously of Eastern descent. Her long black hair was pulled into a loose tail, leaving two forelocks that hung down to her shoulders. She wore a simple white _gi_ and red _hakama_ , suitable for travel and looking well-worn. Her olive eyes were sharp and observing; it was clear that she was the leader of these people. Bee was stricken with the sudden thought that if Yugiri were a hyur rather than Auri, then she would be identical to the woman standing before her.

Beside her, the man spun his blade—a shorter Eastern sword meant for use in these sort of close confines—with a flourish and sheathed it above his main blade, then crossed his arms. Like the woman, he also wore a _gi_ and _hakama_ , though his were dark blue and black, respectively. His short, shaggy hair was several shades lighter, into the brown registers. His eyes, no less sharp than the woman’s, were a bright green color.

“Forgive our offense,” the woman said, casting a sideways glance at the man. “I am Aoyama Motoko.” She gestured to the man and the dark-clothed woman in turn. “This is my husband, Nakagami Seno, and his _shinobi_ , Kazue. We are of the _Shinmei-ryu_.”

Masya stepped forward to join the others, flanked by Kazue, and raised an eyebrow. “The _Shinmei-ryu_?” she asked. “Yugiri- _sensei_ had said your order was wiped out during the uprising.”

Seno chuckled. “Reports of our demise were...exaggerated,” he said.

Though his expression didn’t change, he reached out to lay a hand on Motoko’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly as she looked away. Neither Bee nor Masya were exactly empathetic, but even they could read the sorrow coming off of her in waves.

“ _Most_ of us were killed fighting the Garlean armies,” he explained. “We lived, but only because our mistress ordered us to flee. After we made it to Eorzea, we started to rebuild. There’s about six or so of us.”

“They’ve made a small name for themselves as expert voidsent slayers,” Masya explained to Bee.

“Ah, so they’re why we haven’t been getting those kinds of jobs as much in the past few years,” the roegadyn said, placing her hands on her hips and nodding thoughtfully.

“Guilty as charged,” Seno grinned. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder again, seemingly drawing her from whatever sorrowful memories she had been lost in.

Motoko looked up from the wooden floor, standing tall and proud as she said, “And now, Doma calls her children home. With the war in Gyr Abania, and the word we received that Yugiri has returned to Doma, the time may be right to free our home from the shackles of Garlemald.”

Bee and Masya exchanged glances, the roegadyn struggling to keep amusement off her face. She turned back to the two Domans. “Okay, keep this on the down low, but we’re headed to Doma to stir up revolution and force the Empire to fight two wars at once,” she said.

Motoko and Seno exchanged surprised looks. Even Kazue raised an eyebrow. “Truly?” Motoko asked.

Masya nodded.

“Looks like we picked a damn good time to head home,” Seno mused.

“Indeed, we have,” his wife agreed, then bowed toward the two Scions. “If your goal is the freedom of Doma, then the blades of the _Shinmei-ryu_ are at your disposal.”

“We’re glad to have you with us,” Masya said, bowing in return to Motoko.

“Ah, you guys are being way too formal for my liking,” Bee grumbled, stepping forward and thrusting her prosthetic hand out toward the couple.

Motoko smiled, then reached out to shake Bee’s hand. “I sense that you and my husband will get along _fabulously_ ,” she joked.

Seno reached out and laid his hand over top of theirs. “Two irreverent, incorrigible asses cooped up on a boat for three moons and then unleashed on the Empire?” he posited. “Sucks for the Empire.”

“Hear, hear,” Kazue added, laying her hand on her master’s.

Rolling her eyes humorously, Masya completed the stack of hands and remarked, “What are we getting ourselves into...”

\---

With the size of the false flag fleet being launched by the Maelstrom to sell the deception of a large Eorzean force sailing to the Far East, it was some bells before the _Misery_ could make for the open seas. In that intervening time, the Scions were introduced to the samurai of the _Shinmei-ryu_ , a camaraderie forming swiftly between the freedom fighters of Eorzea and the displaced Domans returning to their home so far away.

Behind on the docks of Limsa Lominsa, Urianger kept a watchful vigil on the departing galleon until it was little more than a speck on the horizon. He mused on the parting words he had left Alisaie, praying that his friends and comrades weren’t sailing forth to their demise...

 

 _Look ye where the sun doth rise,  
_ _See crimson embers, dark’ning skies...  
_ _Look ye where the sun doth fall,  
_ _See azure lost amidst the squall_

_\- Doman proverb_

\---

_Alongside newfound allies, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn journey to the Far East. As they sail the seas, the war continues in Gyr Abania in their absence. Holding the line against flagging morale and emboldened enemies, the other half of the Warriors of Light struggle to ensure that their comrades will have a front to return to. New weapons and new tactics are brought forth to face the might of the Garlean Empire._

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Interlude 1: **Weapons of War**._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as the "twenty thousand new characters" chapter.
> 
> But seriously, I spent half of this chapter going "I'm pushing events way too fast" but that's sort of the point. RWBY's had to shove all this shit out in a couple hours to keep on the MSQ track, calling in their RP contacts from doing their own MSQ to squeeze in some RP to keep their stuff flowing. Also I'm lazy, so that's why this took as long as it did, way longer than it should've.
> 
> As an aside, if you stop and look at the lyrics to the volume 5 opening, they work exceptionally well for where Team RWBY is at right now in the story.


	10. Interlude: Weapons of War

_East End, The Fringes, Gyr Abania_  
_Occupied by the Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance  
_ _Three weeks after the Fall of the Reach_

 

The Flame officer’s sword hit the soft loam of the forest floor point-first, and the officer—threatened by the tip of Johnathan’s sword—meekly raised his hands in surrender.

Bharbennsyn, the Maelstrom commander in charge of this little exercise, laughed uproariously. “You’ve shown those officers why we still call them _petty_!” he bellowed, clearly highly amused by his own joke.

Scattered laughter—much of it nervous—came from the dozens of recruits and lower-ranked soldiers ringing the forest clearing, many of whom had been trounced by Johnathan and his team earlier. Thorvald laughed facetiously—though it was only immediately obvious to his close comrades—Rei remained impassive, Johnathan grimaced, and Sigrid gave that polite smile of hers that meant she thought what she’d just heard was awful but was far too nice to actually say so.

As far as puns went, even Bee would have refused to touch that one.

“But they are _my_ officers,” the roegadyn continued, “and I wouldn’t be much of a commander if I didn’t defend their honor to the last.”

Heaving his axe up and resting it on his shoulder, the Storm commander strode out into the center of the clearing, turning in a slow circle.

“You lot have been enduring training since before dawn,” he told the recruits. “So who’s ready for a spectacle, aye? Who’s ready to see your commanders take on the Warriors of Light?!”

The cheers were far more widespread and genuine.

In response to this, the other three commanders—Arscelin, an Ishgardian Temple Knight; Nelhah, a Gridanian miqo’te archer; and Nonoku Noku, a Flames lalafell thaumaturge—stepped forward into the impromptu dueling circle. The four commanders each took their places opposite a Warrior of Light: Nonoku to Thorvald, Bharbennsyn to Johnathan, Nelhah to Rei, and Arscelin to Sigrid.

Without hesitation, Johnathan stepped forward, sword and shield held unready in his off hand, and offered his free hand to Bharbennsyn. “Good luck to you and your men, Captain,” the paladin said.

The roegadyn met his handshake earnestly, grinning broadly. “And to you and yours, Paladin. Though, seeing as how little you lot require it, you won’t mind if we make off with all of it.”

Laughing, Johnathan stepped back and into a ready position, awaiting the start of the bout.

Thorvald’s opponent grinned up at him. “I’ll try to leave enough of you to scrape into a thimble,” the lalafell teased, tone and broad smile removing any true threat or venom to the words.

The Ala Mhigan gave a merry laugh. “And _I_ shall endeavor to launch you back in the direction of Eorzea, rather than into imperial lands.”

“Much obliged!” Nonoku laughed.

Several paces away, the archer lightly tested the string of her bow as she inclined her head toward Rei. “I look forward to witnessing an astrologian’s magic firsthand,” she said. “This’ll be my first time encountering it.”

Ever a woman of few words, Rei bowed in an Eastern manner and responded, “I shall attempt to give you a thorough display.”

The Temple Knight crossed spears with Sigrid, a little-known dragoon tradition that instantly alerted the red-haired woman that she had more of a fight ahead of her than she’d initially come to expect.

“Might you do me the honor of holding naught back, Azure?” Arscelin asked jovially.

Sigrid gave him an almost-predatory grin, flexing her fingers around the haft of her Gae Bolg. “It would be _my_ honor,” she told him.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” the Storm commander shouted, hefting his axe and charging toward Johnathan.

The paladin stood his ground, absorbing the axe blow with his shield and driving his sword forward in a straight thrust. As Bharbennsyn stepped back from the thrust, Johnathan followed, intent on staying inside the larger man’s reach.

Nelhah drew back her bowstring, loosing a trio of arrows at Rei, but her astrolabe was already spinning. Aether flowed through the weapon, wreathing four cards in magic energy before she flung them into the air between the two of them. Three of the cards intercepted Nelhah’s arrows, leaving the fourth spinning in midair, its energy waiting to be harnessed.

Reaching her free hand through the aether, Rei called The Arrow card to herself, burning it away to lengthen her next card’s effects with a _Royal Road_. Across from her, Nelhah nocked another arrow and whistled sharply. Wind whispered around her and suffused the head of her arrow, a grin of sheer enjoyment adorning her features as she let fly at the Raen woman.

Fire and ice crackled through the clearing as Thorvald and Nonoko dueled, the mage flinging bolts of fire to keep the Ala Mhigan at bay. Thorvald seemed more interested in a putting on an entertaining spectacle than winning a fight, content to largely keep his distance and use his magitek warhammer to bat away the magic bolts with increasingly-sophisticated flourishes as they came within reach. Nonoko, conscious of preventing environmental damage, dispersed the flames before they could set any of the surrounding vegetation alight.

Twisting Mjolnir in his hand, Thorvald hammered downward on a fireball almost in his face, triggering the explosive effect of the weapon at the same time that he jumped up, the propellant force as well as the burst of the fireball sending him sailing up into the sky.

“Thal’s balls!” exclaimed Nonoko as close to three hundred ponzes of man and metal hurtled down at her.

A gesture of her staff created a geodesic shield of ice in Thorvald’s path, and a second gesture with free hand twisted aether to yank herself to Nelhah’s side, far out of the impact zone of the Ala Mhigan’s landing. The shield shattered on contact with the hammer, absorbing most of the energy of the strike in the process and scattering ice shards across the clearing.

Arscelin and Sigrid had both leaped into the sky at the outset, their spears clashing together between them even as they ascended. The Temple Knight used the contact point of their weapons as a fulcrum, leveraging himself into a higher relative position and propelling himself higher into the sky. Flung downward by the reactive force, Sigrid crashed through the light branches of several nearby trees before landing on a sturdy limb, tensing in readiness for another leap.

“Come now, Azure,” Arscelin said teasingly, orienting himself in the position for a textbook dragon-slaying dive onto her. “Did you not promise you would come at me with your all?”

Before she could respond, he was upon her. Her raised spear intercepted the strike, the bladed winglets of her Gae Bolg locking against the head of his halberd. Both their arms trembled from the force behind the strike as the clash of weapons echoed nearly all the way back to the castrum.

A nearly-imperceptible black aura surrounded Arscelin’s spear, and with a minuscule gesture of Sigrid’s finger, the Temple Knight’s weapon _slipped_. The elezen reacted to the change in conditions with incredible speed, kicking off the limb Sigrid stood upon and taking to the sky once more.

This time, however, the highlander woman was hot on his heels, pursuing him into the sky and spinning her spear in a flourish before thrusting it at his center mass. He twisted aside from the blow, allowing its tip to bypass him, and struck out with his own spear, parrying against the haft of hers to prevent the deadly winglet blades from striking him. As she attempted to recover, he let go of his spear a moment, gravity pulling it down into a position from which he gripped it again and drove it toward the chain scale at her center mass.

She nimbly avoided the blow—impossibly so—with a physics-defying midair cartwheel. Unseen due to her movement and the lighting, the thin black aura of her Light-blessed power had enveloped her armor, allowing her to push or pull herself through the sky as no other dragoon could.

Gravity asserted its dominion over Arscelin, but before he could plummet toward the ground, Sigrid made a show of lifting her hand in his direction. As he found himself ‘standing’ upon solid air, he took a close look at the grey-white chain armor on his arm, able to pick out the black aura by color contrast. He knew right away what it signified; like many of the higher-ranked Temple Knights and members of the Knights Dragoon, he was well aware of Sigrid’s unique power.

He raised his spear in salute. “Let us give the recruits a show to remember, Azure!”

Grinning widely, Sigrid tossed her Gae Bolg above her, flicking her wrist at the last possible moment to impart a spinning motion to it. As it came back down, she leaped onto it, planting one boot on the back of a winglet and twisting her body to increase the spin. Flames licked at the tip and leading edges of the spear as she initiated a _Dragonfire Dive_ , the air shrieking as she tore through it toward the Temple Knight...

\---

 _Castrum Oriens, The Fringes, Gyr Abania_  
_Occupied by Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance  
_ _Four weeks after the Fall of the Reach_

 

At first glance, the long and thin weapon constructed of wood and metal didn’t seem like much. It had neither the biting edge of a blade, nor the thick construction of an axe. Those veterans of battle with Garlemald clustered around the table, however, knew full well the devastating power such unassuming weapons held. The model laying upon Raubahn’s war table measured three fulms in length, its stock and lower half made up of a dark lumber, and the barrel itself made out of a polished metal. The emblem of the Skysteel Manufactory was stamped on the upward-facing right side of the stock.

“I believe this will meet your specifications, General Aldynn,” said the blond-haired elezen presenting the weapon. His frumpy machinist’s attire gave him away as the head of the Manufactory, one Stephanivien de Haillenarte. “Durable, lightweight, user-friendly, relatively easy to train effectively, and most importantly: mass-producable. We have twelve hundred ready to deliver today, with an additional two hundred per moon.”

“Quite impressive, Master Haillenarte,” Raubahn said, regarding the weapon critically. “Would you be averse to a demonstration?”

“I insist upon one,” the elezen grinned. “All the better to be an informed client.” He picked up the weapon, careful not to sweep any of the high-ranking Eorzean Alliance officials with its barrel, and walked toward an adjacent alleyway with several training dummies in it.

“The first difference you will note between our existing longarms and this new model is that it does not use any firesand to propel its munitions,” Stephanivien explained. “Given the rarity of that compound, we cannot so frivolously use such a precious resource. No, this design aetherically impels using energy derived from the abundance of unaspected crystals found within the Sea of Clouds.”

From within one of the many pouches on his coat, Stephanivien produced a metal box approximately the size of a deck of Triple Triad cards. “Each one of these containers holds three aetherically-charged rounds of ammunition. Therein lays the second difference between this design and existing ones.”

Storm Marshal Slafyrsyn, second in command of the Maelstrom, nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Not needing to be muzzle-loaded drastically improves the rate of fire,” he remarked. “That alone is much of the reason we’ve never attempted to match the Garleans rifle to rifle.”

“A tactical situation you need no longer fear,” Stephanivien responded. “Observe.”

Holding the weapon so that all could see, he loaded the box of ammunition into the underside of the receiver. He carefully demonstrated sliding the rounded bolt handle forward to chamber the first round, then rotating it down to lock it into place.

“In place of being muzzle-loaded, this design is operated by a manual bolt action that cycles each new round into the chamber. Lock it down like so and it’s primed and ready to fire.”

He hefted the weapon and braced its stock into his shoulder, then sighted on a training dummy wearing a Garlean uniform. With a squeeze of the trigger and the crack of stored aetheric energy, the rifle blasted a hole in the dummy’s chest and sent it rocking back on its supports.

“Question,” asked a female miqo’te in a red coat; R’ashaht Rhiki, commander of the Maelstrom’s adventurer militia. “Why three rounds per load?”

“An excellent question,” Stephanivien responded, lifting a finger matter-of-factly. “The one drawback of aetherically-propelled munitions is that an aetheric charge is also imparted to the barrel as the rounds pass through it. Cycling the bolt helps to disperse this charge, and three rounds is the safe maximum per load that we have determined before the charge accumulates faster than it can be dispelled.”

“That minor shortcoming aside, I believe you have delivered to us a weapon that will go a long way toward leveling the playing field against Garlemald,” Raubahn stated. He looked to his fellow Grand Company commanders. “Are there any objections to the agreement with the Manufactory?”

Admiral Bloefhiswyn shook her head. “On the contrary, Lord Haillenarte may find Limsa seeking an independent contract in the future.”

The Elder Seedseer likewise indicated a negative. “We can but fain hope that it will hasten an end to this conflict.”

Aymeric’s face indicated an immense pride. “It fills my heart with joy that Ishgard might contribute so ably to our efforts.”

Nodding, Raubahn turned and offered his right hand to Stephanivien. “Then on behalf of the Eorzean Alliance, I am pleased to accept the Skysteel Manufactory’s contract according to the previously agreed-upon terms.”

Stephanivien shook the Ala Mhigan’s hand. “It will be our pleasure doing business with you, General.”

\---

 _East End, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Occupied by the Combined Arms of the Eorzean Alliance_

 

Pipin paced the length of a line of Eorzean regulars and adventurer militia, each equipped with one of Skysteel’s new firearms. Following a brief, but thorough descriptive training on their operation, it was now time to begin live-fire exercises.

“I want precision,” the vice-marshal said, his voice carrying well despite his small stature. “I want speed. Most importantly, I want cohesion.”

Coming to a stop beyond the edge of the line, Pipin turned to look over the men and woman of what would soon become the core of Eorzea’s rifle companies. He raised his broadsword so that all—even the Auri and roegadyns at the far end of the line—could see him.

“Make ready!” he commanded.

In a staggered staccato that wasn’t exactly the smooth unison he would come to expect later, the would-be riflemen raised their weapons to a vertical hold and cycled into place their initial rounds. They then held position, awaiting the follow-on commands.

“Take aim!”

Within a second, the dozens of rifles had been lowered parallel to the ground and sighted down, massed at a cluster of dummies over a hundred yalms distant. The soldiers held a bated breath in anticipation of the final command...

\---

 _Upper Velodyna River, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Unclaimed Territory_

 

The rains fell in an irregular blanket over the Fringes, cutting the visibility of the small imperial scouting party fording the river down to only a few yalms. Much of their attention was focused on keeping at bay the reptilian predators that called the river home. At the center of the group, a magitek carriage held supplies of an indeterminate sort, possibly an effort to gain a foothold in the Alliance-controlled East End. A single magitek reaper trod alongside the group for security.

Unbeknownst to the imperials, they were already under the deadly gaze of the Alliance.

The foliage and rocky outcrops on the Eorzean side of the bank concealed some two dozen riflemen, their weapons already tracking the unsuspecting foe, the weather giving them further concealment against detection.

“ _Fire!”_

To the imperials, it was as though the far bank exploded in a rippling wave of gunfire. Half a dozen died instantly under the fusillade, their corpses splashing into the river. The rest encountered the surreal—for them—sensation of what it was like to be on the receiving end of volleyed fire.

With blood now in the water, the crocodilians descended on the rest of the patrol in a frenzy, throwing the imperials into chaotic disarray as the second Eorzean volley struck them. Screams filled the riverside, imperial soldiers scrambling to escape the aquatic predators. The magitek reaper stumbled when a sarcosuchus swept past it, destabilizing its footing and sending it crashing into the river. Almost instantly, the sarco spun about and snatched the driver in its jaws, carrying the hapless man away upriver.

The supply cart, forgotten in the melee and set adrift by the crash of bodies, floated down the river’s course. It rebounded once from a rocky outcrop, then tipped over the edge of the falls to begin its plunge hundreds of fulms down to the lower river...

\---

 _Dimwold, The Fringes, Gyr Abania  
_ _Unclaimed Territory_

 

The old, wooden pathway bridging the swamp creaked under the weight of the imperial unit traversing the dark forests. In the middle of the group, a modified _Predator_ -class magitek weapon trundled along, loaded down with explosives for a sapper mission against Eorzean fortifications.

Hidden behind the trunk of a persimmon tree, standing ankle-deep in fetid water, a blonde hyuran woman lifted her carbine to a ready position by her shoulder. The aetherotransformer on her hip gave her away not as a mere rifleman, but a proper Skysteel machinist: none other than the crack-shot Joye of Nine Faces.

She peered around the side of her tree to ascertain the sappers’ position, then—with a wild, feral grin that had struck fear into many of her fellow machinists—stepped away from the tree and leveled her carbine.

Her shot struck the volatile explosives, setting off a chain of detonations that tore apart the magitek and consumed those imperials closest to it. On the cue of her shot, the Eorzean regulars under her command broke cover, steeping from behind trees and shrubbery—and in the case of one lalafell, from underneath the very wooden bridge itself—to seek their shots in the scattered imperial forces.

The resultant volley was nowhere near uniform—instead a wide scattering of groups of shots—but its effectiveness was undeniable. Within moments of Joye’s initial shot, the sappers had been cut down with not a single one able to draw and return fire.

\---

 _The Last Forest, The Peaks, Gyr Abania  
_ _Garlean-Controlled Territory_

 

While certainly the most efficient means of crossing into the Peaks, the temple annex of the Reach and the main crossing at the Velodyna Bridge were by no means the _only_ ways of doing so. Numerous trails and paths snaked over and through the mountains, impractical for the passage of armies but more than sufficient for allowing small raiding groups to get in and out of imperial territory without notice.

A mixed unit of imperial soldiers and Skulls ambled north along the path leading toward Rhalgr’s Reach, laden with supplies for the small garrison that had moved into the valley after the Alliance and Resistance had abandoned it. Confident in their control of the region, they had elected not to be accompanied by magitek armor; instead, the ranking Skull rode a chocobo.

From both sides of the path, eight adventurers stood from the concealment of the scrub growth, firing down at the imperial forces below them. The confusion of the ambush in supposedly-pacified territory allowed the Eorzean militia time to get off a second volley, preventing a counterattack altogether.

The Skull officer, well aware of the hopelessness of his situation, turned his chocobo about and attempted to flee the killzone. At the point of his closest approach to the Eorzean forces, the silver-armored adventurer leader took careful aim with a small magitek rimfire pistol and fired once.

The shot struck the Skull in the side, unseating him from his chocobo. If the shot hadn’t killed him outright, then surely the unprepared fall onto his head and neck would...

\---

 _The_ Misery _, Deck  
__576 malms southwest of Thavnair  
__Six weeks after the Fall of the Reach_

 

A small crowd had gathered on the main deck of the _Misery_ : her fellow Warriors of Light, most of the _Shinmei-ryu_ , and a handful of the _Misery_ ’s crew that were not presently engaged in critical shipkeeping tasks. They lined the rails of the ship, turning what had been intended to be a simple practice session into an impromptu demonstration. Not that it mattered; the crowds never bothered her, anyway.

Opening the Skysteel weapon case, Blanchette gently lifted the weapon within, allowing the others to finally see it. A rapier, superficially similar to those that Rowena had begun offering in Idyllshire. The similarities ended there, however; where the blade would otherwise meet the basket hilt, a six-chambered revolving cylinder had been welded. Aside from adding to the weapon’s reach, its purpose became clear as the elezen loaded the cylinders with a variety of differently-aspected crystals. Her spectators made impressed sounds as she snapped the chamber shut with a flick of her wrist.

She spun the cylinder theatrically as she slowly stepped to the center of the deck, shutting her eyes and concentrating. Within moments, a white, icy mist formed and began to swirl around her ‘stage,’ prompting several of the privateers to begin muttering to one another while the _Shinmei-ryu_ members watched with rapt attention.

The deck creaked in response to shifting weight at the same time that heavy footsteps sounded from within the mist. Ethereal white, heavily-muscled wolf-like creatures stalked out of the mist, their eyes glinting diamonds in the darkness, their breath emerging as a wispy otherworldly mist. Several nearest the edges growled threateningly at the onlookers, but all of them advanced steadily toward the unmoving elezen.

Her eyes opened slowly, a completely calm expression on her face.

The largest of the creatures took this as a sort of cue, standing up on its hind legs and roaring with enough force to shake the sails. Facing as she was toward the bow of the ship, none of her audience could see the faint smirk that crossed her face as the creature pounced toward her, its powerful leg muscles lifting it above even her height.

With both grace and speed, Blanchette spun to her right, adding momentum to the thrust of her rapier. The blade’s point bit true, driving into the leaping creature’s open maw, piercing skull, brain, and skull again to emerge clean through to the other side. It immediately went slack, its eyes losing clarity as it began to disintegrate into snowflakes; its dead weight hadn’t even had time to pull down her weapon.

Two more of the creatures charged her from behind, yipping and howling as they drew near. A spiraling snowflake glyph appeared beneath her feet, exploding up and pushing her into a high backflip. As she inverted, she looked ‘up’ to catch sight of her target and measure the sweeping strike of her blade that neatly beheaded the monster. She landed on its back as it crashed brokenly to the deck, leaping off again before it even started to disintegrate.

A twist of her right hand’s fingers materialized another spinning snowflake in midair. She planted her boots on it, using it as a platform to arrest her movement on. Hurling herself from it, she sailed toward the third beast, which roared and drew back its arm to catch her in a powerful clawing attack if she continued on her current course.

Her smirk growing, she formed another glyph between herself and the creature, out of reach of its swipe. The glyph halted her bodily momentum, but she drove her rapier—her entire sword arm, in fact—through the hole in its center, the point of her blade impaling the creature’s head. The monster dropped, and the dispersing energy of her glyph provided her extra momentum to flip gracefully backwards through the air, landing perfectly-balanced on the railing of the forecastle.

She lifted her rapier to hold it vertically in front of her, spinning the cylinders with a flick of her thumb against a mechanism hidden in the hilt. Another touch of her thumb stopped it with a fire crystal facing outward in the ‘primed’ chamber. She traced the fingers of her right hand up the length of the blade, combining her own aether with the energy of the crystal augmentation to coat the blade in flaming red energy.

With a wordless shout, she ferociously hacked her rapier in an arc in front of her, loosing the burning energy to shoot out in a horizontal wave, instantly striking down three more of the wolf-like creatures and dispersing the mist through evaporation.

Several of the _Misery_ ’s crew let out shouts of surprise and shock; these swiftly morphed into cheers at her showmanship once they realized that her fiery attack had not harmed anything other than the summons.

“Sloppy!” Bee called out in a mockery of an Ala Mhigan accent.

Blanchette rolled her eyes; count on her roegadyn friend to instantly figure out who it was that had inspired the move she’d just performed. She took a moment to carefully inspect the blade and cylinder mechanism of her weapon, giving a satisfied smile when she didn’t find any damage caused by the aetheric manipulation.

The mist swiftly reformed around them, more of the wolf-like creatures materializing at its edges as it covered the deck. Several of them stopped to roar threateningly at her. Nonplussed, the white-haired elezen deftly twirled her rapier in a showy manner, using her free hand to form a large black glyph in midair behind her.

The spinning snowflake burst the moment she jumped up and planted her feet on it, propelling her forward at incredible speed. In the blink of an eye, she’d bisected the nearest of the creatures at the waist, its death creating a swirling coat of snowflakes around her body.

One of the summons was almost within arm’s reach on her right, but it hadn’t yet processed the speed of her action. The thundering of weight against the deck warned her of another coming up behind her, and she spun and met it midstride, peppering its center mass with a blinding flurry of thrusts.

As it disintegrated, the other stood on its hind legs and struck out at her. The flashing tip of her blade severed its arm before it could complete the strike. She continued to spin, moving as gracefully as if she were ice-skating in Ishgard, a rising uppercut with the rapier severing its other arm. The creature began to roar as she pirouetted, a final slash taking its head off.

Blanchette ended that series of attacks in a figure skater’s one-legged pose, and it took the observers until then to realize that she’d made that entire sequence of attacks _with her eyes closed_.

More and more creatures formed out of the mist, these now beginning to just come at her without announcing themselves beforehand. She sprinted toward the nearest, and as it leapt at her, she slipped to the side and summoned another glyph to springboard from, her rising strike and the creature’s own momentum allowing her to completely bisect it. Landing back on the same glyph as another reached her, she propelled herself into the sky, her rapier cutting through that monster’s body and sending the disintegrating halves flipping over the edge of the ship into the sea below.

In midair, she formed another angled glyph to propel herself from, taking the head off a third wolf and shoving herself back to the deck. While she was still kneeling from the landing, another sprinted in and swiped at her, but she rolled away from its attack toward yet another of the monsters. Before it could react to her proximity, a flick of her rapier removed its arm, and as it reeled from the pain, she jumped forward and onto the chest of the one she had previously dodged, beheading it with a casual-looking flick of her wrist.

She backflipped into the air, forming a black glyph in the air to adhere her to its surface. Completely inverted, she demonstrated her mastery of the glyphs by _turning it_ in midair. The wolf she’d disarmed was still several fulms below her, but she angled her glyph to point her at another one coming from behind it. Before it was aware of the danger it was in, she’d flung herself down to the deck, her blade cutting the monster in half.

The armless wolf had just begun to turn in her direction when she formed a line of multiple glyphs from her position to the monster’s. She could not manipulate _ki_ to _shundo_ like Bee and Masya could, and she did not have the physics-defying speed of Rurumi, so her glyph line was her own version of the ‘instant movement’ attacks.

The wolf had just completed its turn when she was suddenly inside its reach, her weapon buried to the hilt in its chest.

She heard the tell-tale creak of the deck as it disintegrated, and just for the hell of it, she turned toward the next creature and simply hurled her weapon at it. To the surprise of everyone involved—even her—it struck true, impaling the wolf-like monster directly through the heart. She sprinted forward quickly, plucking her weapon from midair before it could hit the ground, thumbing the cylinder again to put an ice crystal in the ‘ready’ position.

Sensing attackers on all sides, she summoned up a surge of aether as she inverted her weapon, shouting once more and driving the tip of her blade into the deck. An explosion of ice not unlike a _Blizzard II_ spell radiated out and up from the point of impact, catching six of the charging creatures from all around her and impaling them through the center mass.

She remained kneeling for several moments after both her attackers and the ice spikes began to disintegrate, taking several deep breaths. The task of summoning all these creatures and then fighting them all on her own was beginning to take its toll on her stamina; and as Bee loved to point out, Blanchette was the weakest among them in the stamina department.

As she stood up again, a spiraling vortex of wind and cherry blossom petals gusted from outside the mist, striking her in the back and sending her staggering. After solidifying her footing, she spun in the direction it had come from, intent on giving the offending party a piece of her mind. Before she could, however, another identical hit from the opposite direction caught her in the side, sending her rapier clattering away from her.

The deck creaked again, which confused her as she hadn’t summoned forth any more of her creatures to fight against. She turned toward the sound in time to catch sight of a blur of red rose petals just before taking that mass of half-lalafell to the gut, sending her sprawling to the deck. Her vision flashed as her head struck the sea-soaked wood, but she still managed to catch sight of a flash of metal above her.

Instinctively, she raised her arms above her in a warding gesture. In doing so, she saved herself from a split skull as her crossed arms blocked the haft of Rurumi’s firearm in scythe mode. The tip of the scythe hovered scant ilms above her face, causing her eyes to cross as she tried to focus on it. Seated on her midsection, Rurumi grinned down at her and leaned her weight onto her weapon, causing Blanchette’s arms to tremble as she struggled to hold the scythe away from her face.

“Enough!” the elezen barked.

The mist immediately dissipated as she ceased her aetherial manipulation, and moments later, Rurumi jumped off her and folded her weapon back down into ranged format. “Sorry...” the half-lalafell murmured. “We thought you might want something more unexpected to train with...”

Despite it all, Blanchette couldn’t remain angry at her love and leader for more than a moment. “Not when I’d just finished exhausting myself doing...all that...” she said, reaching up to rub the bridge of her nose.

Bee’s shadow fell across her, and the roegadyn grabbed her arm before she could reach her face, hauling her upright in a single motion. “Don’t be salty at Rurumi, I put her up to it,” Bee said with a grin.

“I should have known,” Blanchette grumbled half-heartedly, turning a glare up at her comrade that they both knew held no real malice.

Masya joined the gathering, holding the Ishgardian’s lost weapon in both hands; the other onlookers had already wandered off to find other things to entertain themselves with. “Interesting design,” the miqo’te remarked as she ran a finger over the cylinder, then held it out—hilt first—back to its owner. “It suits you well.”

“Thank you,” Blanchette said with a smile, taking the weapon back and flourishing it up before her to give them all a good look at it. “Credit should go to Rurumi and Master Haillenarte at the Manufactory. They were able to construct it for me.”

The half-lalafell blushed and waved her hands before her. “It’s not anything special, really!” she protested. “It’s actually kind of a rough build...”

“All the more better to tinker and upgrade it,” Bee remarked, nodding sincerely.

“...‘More better’...” Masya said flatly, frowning at her partner’s utter destruction of grammar.

“You heard me,” the roegadyn grinned infuriatingly, planting her fists on her hips. Her gaze turned again toward the white-haired woman. “So what do you call that little piece?”

Blanchette smiled, running a finger along the intricate silver tracery in the blade. “Its name is _Alpinaster_.”

\---

_The open seas are a treacherous place, filled with unknown mysteries and malevolent forces. The Scions of the Seventh Dawn find their journey to the Far East waylaid by such forces in the empty expanse of the Sirensong Sea. Forced ashore on an island that's more a ship's graveyard, the Warriors of Light face their first test since the Fall of the Reach._

_Next time, on Huntresses of Light, Chapter 8: **Not Without Incident**._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I took way too long to make something so short. I need to kick my ass and work harder on this thing.


End file.
